


Leviathan

by manic_intent



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Low Chaos, M/M, That AU where Daud becomes Emily's new Royal Spymaster, although due to all the postgame feels between himself and Corvo the working relationship is, and other means, postgame, so they have to work it out by sparring, strained to say the least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, Corvo has no one to blame but himself. He, after all, had been the first to spare Daud after besting the assassin in a duel. He, after all, had been anxious to explain his motives for doing so - at length - to Emily, when she had, one sunny afternoon in the Tower pavilion where her mother had met her violent death, asked what had happened to her mother's murderer. </p><p>Now her letter of pardon seems to burn in his coat pocket on the right, opposite the Heart that he yet holds in his left coat pocket, and it feels like betrayal and not betrayal as he watches the sea pass him by, on his way to Serkonos on a fast ship, with Daud's apparent successor-via-default by his side. Life is infinitely ironic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Written for the kink meme: In an AU where Daud became Emily's new Royal Spymaster as a way to redeem himself for what he did, he and Corvo have to work together all the time. They are both professional, but there's still so much lingering animosity between them. The way only way they can work it out is through frequent and vicious sparring. One day they are sparring again, Corvo wins, then he ties Daud's above his head and fucks him. Hard. Daud loves it.
> 
> \--
> 
> Previously when this game first came out I admired the cinematic, but since I was very much into Assassins' Creed and read reviews that Dishonored was more Thief than AC, I didn't quite feel like trying it. I don't usually like stealth games that have non-lethal routes/encourage non-lethal, and I like to get happy endings, so...
> 
> Then the Steam Thanksgiving sale came on, and wow. This game. Was awesome fun. :D 
> 
> I found Knife of Dunwall harder to play on low chaos, if only because I had come to rely so much on Possess, so I finished it accidentally with a high chaos ending, but managed to do Witches on low chaos. So this story is based on my playthrough:
> 
> Corvo: First mission (Overseer) high chaos, rest low chaos  
> Daud: First DLC high chaos, second DLC low chaos 
> 
> \--
> 
> For the few crazy readers who are just randomly following me into this 'verse, I think you just need to watch ([this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7N1DIo3TH_0)) to get an idea of what the game is about. Corvo, the Lord Protector, is framed for the murder of Empress Kaldwin (who was assassinated by Daud), and Kaldwin's daughter, Crown Princess Emily, was kidnapped. After a long series of adventures and betrayals Corvo manages to retrieve Emily and crown her as Empress. He can choose to warn, forgive or execute Daud. 
> 
> Corvo and Daud both have special abilities because of the Outsider, who leaves a mark on their hands. He's some sort of chaotic neutral God, who only gives marks to people who amuse him. Here's an ([intro video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jg6M8V2E9wk)) to Daud's games (the DLCs) which shows the Empress' assassination, Emily's kidnapping, and Daud's regret.
> 
> I actually mainly ship Outsider/Corvo, but got really fond of Daud after the DLCs... so we'll see. Maybe there'll be more pairings :3
> 
> Rogue's Gallery: Corvo / Daud / Outsider:-
> 
>  

I.

In the end, Corvo has no one to blame but himself. He, after all, had been the first to spare Daud after besting the assassin in a duel. He, after all, had been anxious to explain his motives for doing so - at length - to Emily, when she had, one sunny afternoon in the Tower pavilion where her mother had met her violent death, asked what had happened to her mother's murderer.

Now her letter of pardon seems to burn in his coat pocket on the right, opposite the Heart that he yet holds in his left coat pocket, and it feels like betrayal and not betrayal as he watches the sea pass him by, on his way to Serkonos on a fast ship, with Daud's apparent successor-via-default by his side. Life is infinitely ironic.

"The Whalers maintain a safehouse in Karnaca," Thomas says, his voice faintly indistinct through his full-faced gas mask, his glance at Corvo disconcerting through the opaque lenses. "We should start our search there."

"Should we? Serkonos is a large island and Daud has had a week's head start by your count. He might already have raided the place and left."

"Karnaca's safehouse is my suggestion, sir," Thomas' tone is mild, only faintly reproving, and Corvo falls silent, berating himself for his flash of temper. 

"My apologies, Thomas. I've been sharp of late."

"We do understand your reluctance to proceed with your mission," Thomas inclines his head lightly. "Think nothing of it."

"I must confess," Corvo admits, now that they're a day's journey from Dunwall and the Flooded District, from the rest of Daud's old outfit of killers, "That I would have thought that all of you would have disbanded and left the Chamber of Commerce by the time I thought to inquire within it for Daud's location." 

He had been expecting the Whalers' territory to be abandoned, and had only looked within it when he had run out of other leads, hoping perhaps to find some documents that had not been destroyed. When Thomas has greeted him at the fringe of the Flooded District, Corvo had almost attacked him out of sheer habit and surprise.

As it turned out, finding the Whalers hadn't been of particular help, after all. All that Daud had told them was that he was 'going home', a statement that had apparently caused quite a long argument between the remaining Whalers as to its meaning, until one of them had recalled that Daud had been born in Serkonos.

"Several of us did," Thomas agrees, with a self-deprecating wave, "But for those whom remained..." His tone trails off, for a moment, before he adds, "I suppose we did not truly believe that Daud would leave for ever."

"Despite his words?" 

"Aye. You see, sir," Thomas begins earnestly, hesitates, then glances back over the waves, over the foam breaking against the iron hull of their oil-powered ship, "Several of us were... street children, orphaned and feral, before Daud took us in and trained us. The Whalers are all that we have known."

The Whaler lapses into silence, but Corvo understands the sentiment. To them, Daud had been more than the boss, more than their master and the source of their supernatural abilities - he was father, brother, friend. He relaxes, propping his elbows over the cold rail of the ship, and when seawater from its wake spits briefly over the mark on the back of his left hand, it seems to glow faintly.

"Thomas," Corvo says finally, "The letter I hold-"

"Contains a general pardon from the Empress Emily Kaldwin," Thomas interrupts, with a faint trace of humour in his tone, "Along with an invitation to attend her at the Tower to be named to the post of Royal Spymaster. One of the Whalers stole the letter from you while you were speaking to me, read it, and put it back into your pocket."

Corvo freezes, for a moment, then he lets out a rueful laugh. No wonder the Whalers had seemed so cooperative and anxious to please. "At least I didn't have to convince you of the authenticity of the letter or its sentiment. I thought that I would have to, given how Daud and I last parted."

"Oh, we supposed that it was only a matter of time before you found out about Delilah, despite what Daud thinks. He _did_ blow up that slaughterhouse."

"What?" Corvo glances at Thomas, puzzled. "What slaughterhouse? Who is Delilah?"

It's Thomas' turn to look at him, surprise evident in the tension of his shoulders for a moment. "Ah, she - well," he lapses. "It is not a matter for me to discuss," he murmurs awkwardly, and then taps the back of his left hand meaningfully when Corvo opens his mouth to question him further. 

Corvo should have known that the Outsider might have been behind Daud's seemingly abrupt change in character. His first memory and impression of Daud hadn't particularly placed the older assassin as one given to regret, even if his deeds involved the brutal murder of a mother before her daughter and then the kidnap of said daughter.

"The Empress felt that she had to follow my example in sparing Daud's life, except in a grand fashion," Corvo finds himself explaining, instead. "I explained that the public might be quite aghast if the nature of Daud's original... introduction... to her ever was found out, but she was adamant. Still, if there was another reason...?"

Thomas, however, merely inclines his head and remains silent, refusing to be budged on the topic of Delilah, although he remains friendly enough on other topics, even candid, when Corvo asks probing questions about the Whalers. It makes for a frustrating day, and at the end of it, when Corvo curls up in his bunk, he can't sleep. Life has conspired to make him instinctively mistrust mysteries, of late. 

On the second night, as he lies awake in bed, the world blurs in a now familiar touch of unreality, the gray hulls of the ship and the scent of metal and whale oil, the stolid hum of its engines, all floating into a vast, multihued green to blue to purple to indigo emptiness that fills the entirety of his vision, save for a floating scar of disintegrating floorboards and stone. Corvo recognises Daud's office - a corner of it, at least, floating like a sundered island of broken masonry in the void: he's standing beside one of the bookcases, and beside Daud's desk, arms folded, is the Outsider. 

Corvo tries not to startle. He doesn't remember the last time the Outsider had appeared to him like this, without his presence and his voice filling the entirety of Corvo's meagre, mortal senses. Even when he had allowed Corvo to move about the void, when he did choose at last to appear, he would draw in all of Corvo's vision, like a whirlpool, until his reverberating aura was all that Corvo could know. 

Standing by Daud's desk, albeit floating an inch above the ground, his slender frame and bone-white skin crowned with living darkness, the Outsider now seems... diminished, somehow. A touch less frightening.

At least, up until he looks full upon Corvo, with those purely black eyes, like pits dug out from even the unreality around them, and just as before, just as he always has, Corvo shivers a little before a God's attention. "You do not approve of Emily's decision, and yet you will carry out her orders to the extent of your abilities. Curious."

"It is a matter of duty and service," Corvo says finally, when the Outsider seems to wait for a response, to his surprise. 

He has long learned that attempting any formalities of greeting or title only bored the Outsider, the one crime that the God cannot abide in his chosen. When the Outsider appears to Corvo, the conversation tends to be one-sided: the Outsider speaks, Corvo listens. This is the first time that they seem to be on level speaking terms, and he feels far more self-conscious than he has ever felt in his life.

"He will not accept the post, for he feels that he does not deserve it. Nor does Daud wish to return to Dunwall and its memories. But he will, after a fashion, if you insist - intelligently. For he does feel that he has yet an obligation."

"I know. I found his blade by the - by Empress Jessamine's grave." The blade in question lies wrapped in a chest in Corvo's cabin - Thomas had been loathe to even touch it. "Who is Delilah?"

"She was very interesting once upon a time."

"Another one who bears your mark?"

The Outsider smiles, thin, faint, and without humour or humanity. "Yes. Eight mortals bear my mark, and only three of them men: for the females of your kind tend to burn hotter in their passions, and longer, with a weave of far greater complexity." 

"Thank you, I suppose," Corvo says dryly, "Though I do not envy what has become of Granny Rags, and I won't be surprised if the same has been wrought of Delilah."

"Decay is the fate of all your kind, my dear Corvo," the Outsider doesn't move an inch, but the boards of assassination targets beside Daud's desk rise slowly into the air, to hang askew and haphazardly over the rotting carpet. "But when it is your turn, at the very end, please do not be so mundane as to die old and weakened and sickly in your bed."

"I'll make sure to crawl into someone else's bed to die, then." The sardonic statement leaves his mouth before he can choke it down, and Corvo freezes, half expecting to be struck by lightning on the spot or something equally horrific, but the Outsider merely smiles his merciless smile, and vanishes.

1.0.

After a week or so of the sun, sea and surf, Daud realizes, rather glumly, that he is heartily bored of the 'good life'. Give him a stab in the back anytime, or the dank shadows of a sewer, the creaking, rotting edifice of the Chamber of Commerce, the plague stench of Dunwall streets. He hadn't realized that he would miss Dunwall so sharply and absolutely: he had never missed Dunwall whenever he had been away on contracts.

Where next, then? Cullero? Or another island - Tyvia, perhaps? Or leave the Isles completely? The latter thought stirs his interest briefly before it abates, and Daud hunches his shoulders briefly and tugs the gray hood he is wearing down over his eyes, avoiding the crowds by heading down a side street. No. He wouldn't be able to stand the boredom of a long sea voyage. 

The Outsider's mark on his left palm, beneath his gloves, pulses ice cold for a moment: so suddenly that Daud nearly trips over his feet coming to an abrupt halt in mid-stride. He glances about warily, resisting the impulse to use his void gaze. He had steadfastly gotten on with his new life without the trappings of the old: fully unarmed for the first time in his life, powers under wraps. 

Still, one ignores the summons of a God - if that was what it was - to one's detriment, and Daud hurries back to the safehouse as quickly as he can walk. Karnaca is nothing like he remembers from his youth, and the sun-browned friendliness of the locals unnerves him. Plague hasn't touched its shores, the city guards are as friendly as the rest of the locals, and the city smells of spices and scented candles, cookfires and bakeries and perfumes. 

He's never personally returned to Karnaca since he had left it as a starving child: all the contracts they received from such a place were fairly minor and could be dealt with by his Whalers without his supervision. Daud _is_ glad that he had chosen to return, though. The port city's sun-warmed, lazy welter of general happiness and contentment would, Daud had thought, have been exactly the sort of sentiment that would keep the Outsider away out of sheer boredom. 

Most of the Whalers' safehouses can be accessed by non-magical means, just in case, and this one is a large loft in an old, abandoned Abbey Overseer Ministry. It had been symbolic at best, since Serkonos was mostly under the wing of the Abbey's Oracular Order rather than the Overseers, and eventually, the Overseers had decided to let the building stay dormant and empty, just in case. Daud had liked the irony of it all, when he had dared give instructions that the Whalers were to set up the habitable floors as their Karnacan safehouse, and the Outsider had been amused.

He had been so much younger then. 

Daud steps across the quieter streets, about to open the basement hatch of the safehouse, when his trained ears pick up the faint sound of floorboards creaking, high above. Narrowing his eyes, he glances back at the hatch, then up, to the balconies, and lets out a soft sigh. Just this once, then. 

A transversal blurs him up to a carved protrusion from a neighbouring building, then further up to its thatched roof, even as Void Gaze shows him two warm bodies, walking about within the safehouse, the outline of one instantly familiar. A Whaler. But which? And why? Daud waits, irresolute, then he makes another transversal, this time to perch quietly on the balcony rail.

"-the bed's been slept in." Thomas' voice, brisk and efficient. "And the coin cache is gone." 

"Find anything that indicates where he might have disappeared off to?" 

It takes Daud a long, disbelieving moment to recognise Corvo's voice. _Corvo_! Had he changed his mind after all? Come all this way for Daud's life? Daud glances over his shoulder to the thatch roof, considering stealing away, just as Thomas adds, "We could leave a note on the bed, explaining our visit and your letter. That might be best. I don't think he'll react well to finding us here."

"Not even you?"

"Ah," Thomas notes wryly, "There was an incident with his last second-in-command. And the ones before that, actually. You see, it's a question of succession."

It's curious how naive Corvo still is - the man sounds _surprised_ , of all things. "But your abilities come from Daud, don't they?" 

"Well, yes, but he's taught us not to rely on them, to use them as a tool rather than as a crutch. He won't be around forever." Thomas' casual, earnest tone is what decides Daud. Thomas is a year younger than Billie, and normally, wouldn't have been Daud's choice for a Second, precocious as he was. He didn't quite have the personality for it.

In what he had known would be his last days with the Whalers, however, Daud had just wanted someone reliable, to see him to the end of the problem of Delilah and her troublesome witches. He hadn't wanted to have to watch another person for treachery and ambition, not when he was so close to the culmination of the Outsider's 'suggestion'. Now... if Thomas was here - it couldn't be a question of ensuring succession, or something similar: that wasn't in the boy's nature. Had something happened to Emily?

He steps quietly off the balcony rail, pulling up his hood and folding his arms, leaning a hip against the balcony archway: and he absolutely does not smirk when Corvo, turning to pick up a book, startles visibly at the sight of him. 

The Outsider had always loved Daud's fey - and sometimes cruel - streak of black humour. "Unexpected visitors? How nice. Should I set the kettle up, or bring out the knives?"

Corvo narrows his eyes, his lips thinned. For all that the man has regained the position of Lord Protector, possibly one of the highest political ranks in the Empire, he wears emotion far too visibly. No mask now hides his handsome face, and his rich walnut hair falls uncut to his shoulders, over the rich navy and gold brocaded coat, his marked, uncovered hand twitching briefly into a fist.

Thomas, on the other hand, greets him with relief and joy. "Daud! I thought that you might be here, sir."

"Stop calling me 'sir'," Daud says gruffly. "What are _you_ doing here? Did something happen?" 

"Not really," Thomas begins, but then he falls silent as Corvo steps over, a hand going into his coat pocket and coming back out with a letter, which he thrusts rather ungraciously in Daud's direction. 

"For you, from the Empress."

"She had to send her Lord Protector across the sea to act as her messenger to an old man?" Daud inquires, though he takes the letter, opening it. 

"I've got Eamon, Mikhel and Ezekiel watching her, just in case," Thomas says promptly, and adds hastily, when Corvo glances at him, narrow-eyed, " _Very unobtrusively._ "

The letter was most certainly written by the Empress Emily - it had the breathless rambling rush of an very young girl, with an occasional disregard for proper sentencing or grammar. Its content surprises Daud, but he's careful not to show it. A pardon and an invitation to take up the post of Royal Spymaster, indeed! "Couldn't you have found the Empress a proper tutor?"

"Callista tries her best," Corvo says automatically and defensively, then scowls. "What is your answer?"

Daud carefully folds the letter. "In short? Thank you, but no. Although, if you could see fit to word a more gracious reply-"

"Who is Delilah?" Corvo cuts in, his tone quiet now, his stare flat and intense. 

Daud blinks, glancing over to Thomas, who looks away quickly. So the slip up had been on Thomas' end, then, but only a little. "None of your business. You may go," he adds dryly, when Corvo doesn't move. "I've said 'no'. That should be a relief to you, shouldn't it? You obviously don't approve."

"The Empress' will is unquestionable."

"Oh really? She's a _child_. I suppose you let her do - and study - whatever she likes, then?"

Corvo's tone is sharp when irritated. "Maybe you should have borne her tender years in mind when you murdered her mother before her eyes."

Daud is about to reply, to say something about amends, but the gleam in Corvo's eyes warns him off. He smiles lazily, instead, and lifts a shoulder into a shrug. "That's a matter for my personal conscience."

"Also," Corvo adds flatly, "The Outsider appeared to me. So now I am here." 

Now _this_ \- Daud hesitates before he speaks, blinking slowly. "A vision?"

"A dream. We were in your office, in the Chamber of Commerce. It was sundered, floating in the void. I don't believe that he's finished with the both of us as yet." 

"No, I suppose it was too much to hope for," Daud agrees wearily. An Empress' summon he could hope to evade, but not the Outsider's. If anything, to the Outsider, he still had an unbreakable obligation. "Very well. I'll return. Although I do recall," he drawls, "That the last Royal Spymaster was arrested in disgrace."

"See that you do not repeat his mistakes," Corvo retorts shortly, and steps over to the balcony. "I'll meet the both of you back on the ship," he adds, before he blinks away to the thatch roof, then away, out of sight.

Daud folds the letter into his pocket, even as he snorts. "The beginnings of a fine working relationship." 

"I'm sure that it'll improve, sir," Thomas says, if doubtfully.

"Don't call me-" Daud hesitates. "Are all of you boys interested in the proposition? Coming back under my command? Taking up the Empress' coin?"

"The Tower is as fine a place for you to retire as any, sir," Thomas notes innocently, and Daud glowers at him for a moment before he barks out a laugh.

"We'll see. Well then, make yourself useful. Get those maps and the journals."


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Daud, unsurprisingly, had proved even harder to budge on the topic of 'Delilah' than Thomas, and Corvo concedes the matter with ill grace.

"I trust," he tells Daud with no little asperity, where they stand on the sun-bleached deck of the steamship, "That when you take up the role as Royal Spymaster you'll be more forthcoming on matters of Imperial importance."

Daud's smirk has a touch of malice to it, even as he leans back against the iron rail, watching the sea pass them by. "My dear _Lord_ Protector, I do understand the _nature_ of employment."

That is no answer at all, Corvo decides sourly, but to press further will probably only result in Daud's amusement. He decides to leave the matter as it stands. Besides, he did, after all, trick Daud into obeying Emily's will: probably no small coup in itself. If he plays his cards right, Daud will never find out about it: Corvo rather doubts that the Outsider will tell tales. This is precisely the sort of mischief that the God enjoys.

"I didn't notice until just presently," Daud adds, cutting through Corvo's quiet self-congratulation, "But there's something rather unusual in your coat pocket."

"What?" 

Daud's smile is unsettling, and he taps his nimble fingers against the iron rail, the gloves muffling the sound, but the tempo is obvious enough, in the arrhythmic jump of a heartbeat. "I can't say that I've seen the make of it before, but I've seen the raw material, as it were. Well?"

"The Outsider gave it to me," Corvo mutters. Better to salve Daud's curiosity than risk that the man steal it to take a look. He can't bear the thought of Daud putting his hands on the Heart, somehow. "He said that it would help, tell me secrets."

"Do you know what it is?"

"It's a tool. It helps me find the whalebone runes. Bone charms."

"He didn't give you the sight of the Void?" Daud sounds genuinely curious, and at that, Corvo hesitates, long enough that Daud snorts. "My... gaze allows me to look through walls. See heat signatures. Useful objects, bone charms, runes."

"Well," Corvo falters, then he adds, "Your blinks... ah... transversals... have a longer range, as well. Your abilities are different. So are Granny Rags'."

"Someday we should compare notes." Daud sounds indifferent again. "But I'll give you some advice, Lord Protector, by way of goodwill. The Outsider gives no gifts that are unnecessary. And," he adds, when Corvo makes as though to say something sardonic, "None of his gifts are given out of kindness. Not even this one." Daud taps at his left palm. "Maybe your version of the Sight doesn't let you see it, but there's a spirit trapped within that thing, and it's quite familiar." 

"Who?"

"I think you know who, you poor bastard," Daud says quietly. "And for what it's worth, I _am_ truly sorry."

Corvo watches Daud walk away, his teeth gritted, and once he's alone in his corner of the deck, he hunches against the rail, away from the rest of the ship and its crew as he draws out the Heart from his pockets. It pulses in his hand, too-warm, too dry, nearly rubbery to the touch as he remembers, ruptured and stitched together with glass and silver and iron, palpitating in a mockery of a real heartbeat. 

Gears twist and turn within its glass optic, and from within it, a voice he _does_ remember, all too well, whispers, "Daud's heart has long been troubled, but he has made his peace."

Corvo shivers, and pushes the Heart back into his pocket. His eyes sting, and he grits his teeth so hard now that his jaws ache, his palms stinging where he has them clenched on the rail, and as he lets out an inarticulate cry, the ocean swallows his pain as greedily as the Void itself.

That night, the slice of sundered reality floating in the Void is one he knows painfully well: every inch of it, every book, every quill and painting and sculpture. Jessamine's study, before she had died - before Burrows had refurbished it, before Emily had in turn remade it for her own uses. It's stately, elegant, neat, and framed in pride of place above the mantlepiece is one of Emily's first drawings, aged five: burned now, probably by Burrows. The crayons are as bright as he remembers: three stick figures with scrawled hair and clothes, in blue, red and yellow - Jessamine, Emily and himself. 

The Outsider stands with his back to Corvo, studying the painting, his pale hands clasped behind him. "Few of your kind understand that the best art comes not from skill, but from pressing a little piece of your soul into your creations. The art of such a kind are beacons. Beautiful. Like this piece." 

"I didn't think that you were a connoisseur."

"You'll be surprised."

"You never showed Anton Sokolov any favour, and he's probably the Empire's best painter."

"Not in the least, Corvo, not in the least." The Outsider sounds faintly pitying, which irritates Corvo all over again, though he holds back on his grief and temper tightly.

"The Heart. I didn't want to... I didn't want to face it, I didn't want to think - but it's Jessamine's, isn't it? It's _Jessamine's_." His voice cracks as he says her name again, and this time, the Outsider turns to face him, his unearthly, perfect face blank as ever. 

"The Heart of a living thing," the Outsider quotes himself, "Molded by my hands. With a little mortal help."

"Piero." Corvo notes flatly. "I listened to his audiograph. I thought it seemed familiar at the time, the device he was talking of, of being able to 'keep a heart beating through electricity'... You used him when he was asleep!"

"Now that," the Outsider muses, "Such a strange word. 'Used'. I don't use people, my dear. I _influence_." 

"All the better to amuse you with?" Corvo retorts bitterly. 

"Precisely." The Outsider's tone doesn't change, but the shadows about him lengthen and grow still, and Corvo draws himself up, his teeth bared, but silent. "My dear Corvo. None of my gifts are ever given unasked. Whatever would be the point?"

"What you did to Jessamine was a _gift_?"

"In the very last of her moments her soul cried out - not for justice, not for vengeance, but for help. She wanted _to_ help. Her daughter, and you. So I granted her wish," the Outsider trails his fingers along the edge of Jessamine's antique elderwood desk. "She's in no pain. And after the very last of your days, she'll be free. To a wraith, that's no time at all."

"And what did you ask for in return?"

The Outsider tilts his head. "I never ask for anything in return. What could she give me? What could any of you give me in return?"

"But if she interested you, you could have saved-"

"Now, now," the Outsider interrupts, and he's clearly amused now, the bastard, for all that he doesn't smile. "When did I say that she was interesting? She was merely... useful. Yes. At a good time. And a good place." 

Corvo wants to shout, to scream, but instead, under the Outsider's blank, timeless stare, he swallows it all down, instead, breathes out. "She's in no pain?"

"As I said." 

"What if I..." Corvo hesitates. "What if I... buried it? In her grave? Would that be like... burying her alive? Would she know?" 

"The Heart isn't alive, not truly, nor is it all of her, only a fragment."

"That's no answer." Corvo swallows another retort. "Please. Please tell me." 

"Six months in Coldridge," the Outsider muses, "And now you beg. Careful, my dear. You're growing predictable. But since you did ask so prettily, I'll give you a hint. You've met another who knew of the Heart's true nature before, haven't you? Another one who bears my mark?"

It's a heavy-handed hint. Granny Rags. "Thank you." Corvo whispers, as the dream starts to tear itself apart.

"Hate me if you like. Just don't be tedious," the Outsider purrs, and then Corvo is falling into the void, the stones beneath his feet disintegrating, his hands flailing, the world, deep indigo-

2.0

Corvo's been oddly subdued through the whole voyage back to the Tower, and Daud wonders if it's his fault. The comment about that unsettling construct in Corvo's coat pocket must have struck deep, but surely _Corvo_ hadn't been so oblivious all this time. Surely he should have suspected _something_ of that cursed, cruel thing. The Outsider's fair outdone himself this time.

Thomas, thankfully, doesn't ask. He's kept his Second busy by telling him to think up a plan of approach for their new Imperial appointment: priorities, possible targets, venturing into new information networks and more. Daud will have to look over the plans himself, of course, but at least it kept Thomas quiet and out from underfoot through the whole voyage. Daud had spent it sitting on the prow of the steamship, watching the sea. The Outsider hadn't bothered to appear, in dreams or otherwise, to explain himself, and Daud supposes a little wryly that he hadn't expected better. 

Corvo insists at the port that they head straight to the Tower, and when Daud shrugs, Corvo frowns to himself, disappears briefly into his cabin, and returns with a wrapped, slender bundle, which he tosses into Daud's hands. "Yours," he tells Daud curtly, and steps away towards the dock.

Daud unwraps it. It's his blade, of course. He should have known Corvo would find it. He hefts it in his hand, a little awkwardly - he doesn't have a scabbard for it - and decides to wrap it up again. Thomas takes it from him reluctantly as they disembark with what little luggage he had taken with him to Serkonos. 

"Wait for me in the Chamber of Commerce," Daud tells Thomas once they're at the dock. "Gather up the others for a debrief."

"What about those who've left?"

"Send them a message if you can, but don't bother trying too hard."

Thomas nods, and disappears with a flutter of specks of unreality, and in Daud's peripheral vision, he smirks as he sees a sailor make the sign of the Abbey fervently. Corvo's waiting for him beside an Imperial carriage, richly crested, but he says not a word as Daud climbs into the luxuriously cushioned interior. 

That suits Daud fine - he looks out at the city as they pass, instead, in a rumble of engines and clockwork. He doesn't see any weepers, and it looks like martial law is over - there are no more checkpoints, no Tallboys, no Walls of Light and pylons. Instead, there are civilians on the street, walking quickly, heads down, still a little fearful. People are carefully, cautiously, starting to go about their lives again.

"You've cured the plague?" he asks out aloud, and Corvo stirs with a start, as though he hadn't expected him to speak.

"No. But Piero and Sokolov think that they're close to a breakthrough," Corvo says, after a pause, his tone neutral. "So the guards have gone about carefully rounding up weepers. Piero built a specialised arc pylon that stuns just weepers. They're penned over in Rossler Square. It was the Empress' idea. She felt that perhaps they could be saved, if a cure was found."

"An idealist."

"Like her mother," Corvo says coldly, and looks out of the window again. Daud internalises a sigh. He supposes that he does deserve it.

The Tower seems to have been cleared of the inquisitive - guards who show him and Corvo up to Empress Emily's Court are blank-faced and incurious. Corvo's hand there, perhaps. It had mattered little - previously. Thrones have unsteady feet: it's a fact of which Daud is intimately aware - and it occurs to him wryly that perhaps _keeping_ an Empress safe as compared to planning for her death is going to be a far greater and complex endeavour. Perhaps the greatest one of his life.

Somewhere in the Void, the Outsider is probably laughing, damn his eyes.

The Court, too, seems empty of courtiers and nobles - the Empress isn't even on her throne. Corvo looks about briefly, confused, then he relaxes as a side door opens and the Empress rushes out with a whoop of joy, followed hastily by a thin, tall woman in a plain and severe dress, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"You're back early!" the Empress says gaily, and rushes into Corvo's arms. He kneels to hug her, and when she disengages, she looks at Daud alertly and curiously, not in the least afraid. There's steel in the child, and within him, a small core of doubt evaporates and fades. 

"Your Majesty," Corvo says formally, as Emily settles on the throne and the tall woman stands beside her, to her left, "I present to you Daud of the Whalers."

"There's no need to be so formal, there's just us." The Empress bites down briefly on her lower lip, chewing briefly, then she looks up at the woman apologetically. "Callista, I'm sorry, but I need to be alone with Daud and Corvo."

"Of course." Callista inclines her head to them both, stepping behind the throne to head back through the side door. The look she shoots Daud is full of silent hatred, and he makes a point to smile thinly at her as she goes. 

The exchange didn't go unnoticed. "You told Callista?" Corvo's asking the Empress.

"She wanted to know where you were going with my letter." 

"Did she approve?"

The Empress laughs merrily. "No. Neither did her uncle. He came over and made _such_ a fuss."

"I should think so," Corvo says dryly, "I doubt that there's any love lost between Daud here and Captain Curnow."

Ahh. So there it was. "We've met. Only passingly."

"I'm thankful for small mercies," Corvo bites out, and Daud smirks at him, folding his hands behind his back. 

"Oh, stop that," the Empress says reproachfully. "You forgave him, didn't you? I shall as well. Daud, will you be my Royal Spymaster? I'll be fair to you. You and your men. I've had several lectures from Callista and her uncle and Corvo about what the Spymaster _does_ , and as far as it seems, you'll be spending your time looking up secrets? For me?"

"For Imperial security," Corvo corrects.

Daud ignores him. "That's exactly right, your Majesty."

"Don't call me that. Call me 'Emily'. If you're going to be working for me, I want to be friends. Even if... even after what you did. Because you didn't do it because you just wanted to. You were sent, weren't you?" 

"I did what I was paid to do."

The Empress - Emily - nibbles on her lower lip again, then she nods, slowly and firmly. "Well then, now you report to me."

"It'll be my pleasure," Daud says pleasantly, just to see Corvo glare daggers at him. "Now if I may, I need to go and organise what's left of my men."

"You can have Burrows' old place," Emily says brightly, then adds, "Unless your place is better. Is it better? It's an assassin's hideout, isn't it? Is it hidden? Can I see?"

"Most certainly not," Corvo says, aghast. 

"If you wish," Daud says mildly, and this time, Corvo bares his teeth at him before he composes himself. 

"It's in the Flooded District. The old Chamber of Commerce. You've been there once, when you were very young. That building with a huge statue of your mother at the front?"

"Oh," Emily sounds instantly disappointed. "That place. Well, I'm sure the Spymaster quarters are far nicer," she adds, with the vague tone of someone who obviously isn't sure at all. "In any case, since you'll be looking out for secrets on my behalf, here's a list of secrets that I want found out." She unfolds a folded square of paper from under her sleeve, handing it furtively to Daud. "I wrote it when Callista wasn't watching."

"What secrets?" Corvo asks, reaching over to take the paper from Daud, but Daud quickly places it into one of his own many pockets. 

"That's hardly a matter for the _Lord Protector_ , is it?" Daud asks mildly, and he winks at Emily, who laughs. 

"Why yes! Oh, don't worry, Corvo. It's nothing that you need to know about. Daud, I'll see you tomorrow, for tea? We can discuss my list, and..." she hesitates for a moment, "Um, whatever else you'll like. Corvo, let's go to the gardens. I want to play hide and seek."

Corvo shoots Daud a lingering, narrow-eyed stare of irritation and open dislike as he leaves, hand-in-hand with his Empress, and Daud waves mockingly at him. He waits until Corvo is gone, then he takes out the paper and unfolds it.

The scrawl is in colored ink that's smudged purple at the edges, and the letters are spiky, as though written in a hurry. Daud reads the list to the end, and despite himself, he has to grin. Folding it back up, he says, aloud, "Mikhel."

There's a flutter of unreality beside him, then Mikhel transverses into place. "Sir. I'm glad that you're back."

"Any problems?"

"Nothing major. Ezekiel did have to gently discourage a drunken sap from gaining an unwanted audience, two days ago. Her Majesty insisted on visiting some old friends at a pub, run by a mutual friend of hers and Corvo Attano, one Samuel Beechworth."

Daud arches his eyebrows, then he shrugs. If the Empress enjoys creating her own security breaches, that's Corvo's problem. "Corvo can watch Emily now that he's back. I need you and the others to return to the Flooded District with me. We have a great deal of work to do. Wait," he adds thoughtfully. "Eamon's a good hand with a lockpick, isn't he? Get him to head over to the Academy of Natural Philosophy and scope it out."

"The Academy?" Mikhel asks, sounding dubious. "Yes sir, but why? Do you suspect trouble already? From Sokolov?"

"No," Daud shakes his head slowly, "But her Majesty is in the mood to have some questions answered, and we're going to need the best books on monsters that we can get. With pictures," he adds absently, as Mikhel steps away to go. 

" _Monsters_?" Mikhel hesitates. "But sir, if it's just books that we're after on such a topic, shouldn't the Empress simply... ask Sokolov? He's still the Head of the Academy." 

Daud shrugs. "Where's the fun in that? Now get going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm just mostly oblivious to these things, and also I didn't really use the Heart's Listen to What People Think ability very much at all save by accident, so I only realized what the Heart was when I started reading Dishonored fanfic, LOL.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Despite exercising nearly every bribe he can think of, Emily wouldn't budge on the matter of the List, and in the end, Corvo decides glumly that the secrets that an eleven-year-old wishes to know likely won't be catastrophic. Hopefully. In any case, at the most, he could always pickpocket Daud for the list.

As Emily had not yet come of age, and needed time to devote to her lessons, to Corvo's resignation he finds that he has, in an unofficial capacity, become something of a Lord Regent himself. His day is mostly spent dealing with a morass of security matters involving the effort to capture and pen up the weepers, discussing the problem of gang violence on the streets with Captain Curnow, and giving a seal of final approval on Piero's latest plan on rebuilding the levies and drainage system in the Flooded District. 

He's exhausted come the late afternoon, and as such is already in a poor mood when a nervous guardsman approaches him to inform him that the Empress Emily is entertaining a rather unusual guest at tea. Realization takes a moment to dawn, and then Corvo's hurrying through the Tower, towards the Tower Garden, trying his best not to use his abilities.

It's a strange sight - a hastily set up table, in the small grove where Emily likes to play hide and seek, under the great oak tree, laden with biscuits and cakes and a large pot of tea. Callista stands behind Emily's chair, her expression frozen between disgust and indignation, while Emily and Daud, seemingly oblivious, are discussing a book open before Emily on the delicate table. 

It takes a great deal of discipline not to blink over to take a look, and Corvo approaches in a fairly sedate pace, gritting his teeth. If Daud is showing Emily anything remotely inappropriate, royal pardon or not, Corvo's going to hang the bastard by his balls from the pavillion. 

"Corvo," Daud greets him mildly, as Corvo gets to Emily's side. It turns out to be a book on... Pandyssian monsters, of all things, judging by the chapter title printed on the top right of each page, and there are detailed illustrations. Corvo frowns, then he looks to Daud for an explanation. Daud merely smiles politely and infuriatingly at him, and Corvo clenches his fists.

"Look at this one, Corvo," Emily's pointing at what seems to be an ambulatory carnivorous plant, its huge red-spotted, many-toothed mouth supported over an oddly slender vine of a neck, rooted to a mass of thorny roots curled and coiled over the ground like the spindly marching feet of a truncated centipede. Someone has even helpfully sketched in a man, to give an idea of scale. The mouth towers over the head of the man by several hands' breadth. 

"What about it?" Corvo asks warily.

"Won't it make quite an unusual pet?"

In the corner of his eyes, Corvo notices Callista's mouth thinning quickly. "Ah, acquiring it would prove to be a problem. Unless you intend to send your new Spymaster to Pandyssia." The thought cheers up Corvo even as Daud arches an eyebrow at him. Yes. That would be a great solution to all of Corvo's immediate problems. Packed off to Pandyssia with its evidently strange and dangerous plant life. 

"No, I suppose it might not survive the trip back here. And this book says that it's only been observed to eat the local birds. Maybe it'll starve here." Emily says, sounding disappointed, and turns a few pages. The handwriting seems familiar, and Corvo glances over to Daud.

"Is this Sokolov's?"

"Why yes. You have a good eye for detail."

"Emily, were you curious about Pandyssia?" Corvo asks, a little relieved. "You could have just told me. Sokolov would have been happy to talk to you about it." 

"Oh no, I just wanted to know what monsters in this world might be interesting enough to keep as pets. I didn't want to bother Sokolov. He's working very hard with Piero on the plague cure," Emily says distractedly, and now Corvo realizes that the book has been discreetly marked with tags of coloured paper, inserted at points between its pages, and in Emily's lap, there are two more similarly marked leather-bound books.

"And this giant bird-eating monster plant is somehow _appropriate_? As a pet for a young girl?" Corvo glowers at Daud, who lifts a shoulder into a shrug. 

"The question was which monsters were 'interesting', not 'appropriate'. The Whalers spent all night going through the books that they found. These three books are the best. It was rather educational."

Annoying, but possibly harmless. Corvo reluctantly subsides. "Was this all that there was that you wished to know, Emily?"

"Oh no, it's just a start. And what a nice start." Emily's flicked over to a tabbed page containing what looks to be a feathered, winged serpent, which, according to Sokolov's helpfully annotated notes, was as big as a steamship. Emily traces the beautiful sketch regretfully. "This one is really interesting!" 

"It'll eat all your subjects, Empress," Callista says in a tight voice.

"That's true. I guess it'll be hard to feed, too." Emily sighs. "Oh yes, Daud said that he'll be taking over Burrows' old place."

"And which one is that?" 

"Why, Kingsparrow island of course," Daud says innocently, "Shame to leave it empty. We'll redecorate." 

"He's invited me to visit once it's done. Isn't that nice?" Emily's turning to another tabbed page, to what looks like a fat, huge ground-burrowing worm with a layered mouth full of sharp, inward-pointing teeth, also as big as a steamship. What was _wrong_ with Pandyssia? Callista makes a small, stifled sound of horror, but Emily reads Sokolov's neat description with avid interest. 

Did the Whalers just pick out the most disgusting monsters from each book? What were they thinking... ah. Yes. Corvo recalls Thomas mentioning that the Whalers used to be street children. On second thoughts, these do seem to be exactly the sort of monsters that a pack of ill-brought-up, deadly children would have liked best. 

"You're going to give Daud a _fortress_?" Corvo asks, struggling to keep his tone neutral. 

"Well, it used to be Burrows'." Emily points out, her tone distracted.

"Burrows' Spymaster _office_ was in the _Legal District_." 

"We'll keep that running as well, until we've finished processing the old Spymaster's employment roster for rats," Daud adds mildly. "But it's hardly big enough to house the Whalers. Besides, you managed to break into Kingsparrow Island before, didn't you? You're welcome to visit any time, Lord Protector."

Was that a faint trace of mockery? Daud's expression is carefully blank, though. "I will, if necessary," Corvo shoots back pointedly, and Daud smirks at him. 

"Emily, I have other matters to attend to. If I may take my leave?" Daud asks Emily politely. 

"Oh, all right. If you must," Emily says reluctantly. "I never thought that having a Spymaster could be so fun! What if I think of more questions and need to send you a message?"

"Corvo will know how to get to me." Daud notes, amused. 

"But I can't be making him run about all the time playing messenger," Emily glances apologetically at Corvo.

"Well then, let me teach you a magic trick, your Majesty. It'll be our secret." 

"Your Majesty-" Callista yelps, even as Corvo interjects sharply, "I don't think that's appropriate-"

"I'll very much like to learn it," Emily cuts through enthusiastically, her eyes round with wonder. 

"Whenever you need someone to send me a message, just snap your fingers, like this," Daud snaps his fingers, "And point to a spot, and someone will come to carry a letter. Try it." 

"Emily," Callista beseeches, and then she lets out a stifled cry of shock as Emily snaps her fingers and points towards the grass. There's a flutter of unreality, and a Whaler stands crouched on the grass, straightening up and folding his hands behind his back. 

"Your Majesty," the Whaler greets her politely, as Emily claps her hands and laughs in delight. 

"Just make sure you're alone when you do it." Daud nods at the Whaler, who disappears in another flutter of unearthly sound. "Or with Corvo, if you prefer."

Corvo catches up with Daud when the older man's starting to head through a corridor to the great water lift, and grabs Daud's shoulder, spinning him about to pin him firmly against the stone wall. "What are you playing at?" he hisses. 

Daud's eyes narrow, but his hands stay slack at his sides. "You're the one who brought me that pardon."

"Did you really teach her a-" 

Daud cuts Corvo's question off with a sharp laugh. "No. She's not compatible for the bond. It's just a parlour trick."

"Having one of your Whalers watch Emily at all times?"

"They'll rotate in shifts-"

"Security-"

"Naturally, security is a matter for your final decision, Lord Protector," Daud notes calmly, "But you're not always by her side, I've realized that much by now. We can be."

"And I can trust you?"

"Corvo," Daud points out quietly, "If I had wanted to do harm to Emily, I could already have done so, many times over, even before I-" He hesitates, for a moment, then shrugs. "Besides, the Outsider seems interested in her well-being." 

"Is he?" Corvo asks, curious now. "He's never mentioned her as interesting." When Daud merely smiles flatly, Corvo adds, with a frown, "Is this about - is this about Delilah?"

"You're very persistent. I might be flattered." Daud drawls, then he laughs as Corvo shoves him hard against the wall again before stepping back. "I am, however, starting to wonder about the nature of our... arrangements. He told me that only eight of us bear his mark. So far, at least four of us are in Dunwall. I'm beginning to be curious about the location of the rest."

"Should we be?" Corvo asks automatically, then realizes belatedly that he's used the word 'we', and flushes slightly.

"It might be a secret worth knowing. He doesn't give his mark lightly." 

"If you're going to approach Granny Rags, I want to be there. She knows me, and she'll probably be less likely to be hostile."

"I'll let you know if that becomes necessary," Daud nods. "I already have a couple of the Whalers watching her movements."

"She's the oldest of... well, of us. Whom I know of." Corvo lowers his voice, glancing about, using his Vision briefly to check if they are truly alone. "She might know whom the others are. I have business with her, in any case. We could pay her a visit tonight. I'll meet you at the entrance to the John Clavering Boulevard at sundown." 

Daud nods. "Very well." He grins sharply, mockingly. "Don't be late, my Lord." 

Corvo bares his teeth, but Daud's already gone, a few specks of glimpses into another realm all that remain in his wake.

3.0.

Daud stays perched on the cornice of a building facing the Boulevard, watching the sun go down. Below, the streets are clear of bodies and weepers, and passing civilians walk about, occasionally nodding as they pass city guardsmen. Human memories are so short, Daud reflects contemptuously.

Corvo appears abruptly beside him on the cornice a few minutes after sundown, and the Lord Protector seems briefly disappointed when Daud merely nods at him in greeting. "Look at that," Daud gestures at the street. "Just a short while back, the guards were killing civilians in the street. Now the sheep and the wolves are all friends again."

"Captain Curnow did an extensive overhaul of the city guard," Corvo notes quietly. "It's not perfect, but it's gone some way towards restoring public confidence. He's dismantled the Tallboy system and disciplined the power-mad."

"Slap on the wrist, or a hanging?"

"Depends on the extent of their crimes." Corvo seems to lose interest in the conversation. "Let's go."

"She's not in her house in the Distillery District," Daud notes mildly. "We've had a look. Hasn't been there for a while. Somehow, she slipped the watch I put on her, blast it all."

"I know another place." 

The 'other place' turns out to be the dank, stinking sewer system beneath the Flooded District, which hasn't improved since the last that Daud has reason to come by the area. "You take me to the nicest places, Corvo." 

"Shut up," Corvo bites back, as they step quickly towards a huge, circular grate, wary of river krusts. "She has a lair here."

"A lair?"

"You'll understand when you see it." Corvo hesitates, a moment. "I suppose I should tell you. The last that I encountered Granny Rags here, she was about to boil and eat Slackjaw." 

"Leader of the Bottle Street Gang. _Still_ the leader, I note. How did that turn out?" 

"Ah," Corvo sounds a little embarrassed, "I sleep darted the both of them, put Granny on her bed, and carried Slackjaw out of there. Passed him over to one of his men. It seemed like the only thing I could do to disarm the situation."

"Oh yes, who knows which other poor bastard Granny Rags had to scrounge up for her cooking pot," Daud drawls. "What the fuck, Attano. You let a cannibalistic lunatic with _our_ powers go free?"

"I don't know if she has our powers exactly," Corvo says defensively, "And she's an old woman. I couldn't kill her."

Daud rolls his eyes, but Corvo has his back turned as he opens the door set in the large grate with a key. "So we might not be walking into a friendly situation after all."

"Scared?"

"Hardly. Simply cautious. You have such a talent for making unusual friends, Lord Protector. You simply _must_ teach me your secret."

"The trick involves deciding not to murder the innocent for money," Corvo shoots back. Daud sighs. 

"Really, Attano, if you're that concerned over the nature of my _previous_ profession, you should have simply ignored the Outsider and told the Empress that you couldn't find me. He doesn't give orders. Merely suggestions."

"You didn't seem surprised to find me looking for you along with Thomas." 

"If anyone was going to find me, it would have been either of you. Lucky guess."

"And," Corvo pauses, turning to face him, "Your first question to Thomas was 'what happened?'. Not an accusation of betrayal, or an attempt to flee, or a demand as to whether I was there for your life. Delilah bore the Outsider's mark. She was trying to kill Emily, and you stopped her. When you saw Thomas and myself again, you therefore assumed instantly that a similar threat had arisen, or perhaps Delilah was back. Why avoid telling me about it? I have a right to know. I _am_ the Lord Protector."

Corvo had very good instincts. Daud exhales, exasperated. "Fine. I suppose that we _are_ now working together. In short, I was out of sorts after the contract I took out on the previous Empress, and the Outsider appeared to me. He said that I was starting to become 'interesting' again, and he gave me a name."

"Delilah," Corvo guesses. "Who was she? All I managed to worm out from my own contacts was that she used to be one of Sokolov's proteges. The Outsider said that he liked... art." This last is said with an open uncertainty, and Daud snorts.

"That explains why he might have originally found her interesting enough to give her a mark. Her paintings allow her to control her subjects. I'm not sure. Her spells are complicated - more than our abilities. She was going to... _become_ Emily, somehow. That's all I understood of the ritual. I switched Emily's painting with a painting of a floating tree on a rock when her back was turned. When the ritual finished, she was sucked into some portal. Problem solved."

Corvo lets out a startled laugh, then he swallows it hastily. "Is this why you're looking for others who bear the mark?"

"Just in case."

"Why did you blow up the slaughterhouse?"

Daud scowls. Blow up just _one_ slaughterhouse, and the incident haunts him for the rest of his days. "In the course of my inquiries," and then he adds irritably, when Corvo tilts his head, so very annoyingly like the Outsider's favorite gesture, "I had to visit the owner of a slaughterhouse. His butchers were torturing a whale. I disagreed with the procedure. Happy now?" 

"But your assassins are called 'The Whalers'."

"The name is ironic." When Corvo looks a little confused, Daud adds, "The Outsider's true form - don't you know what it is? Well... ask him, the next time you see him. Right now, could we keep moving? I'm not exactly enamoured of our present surroundings."

"Says the man who set up a base in Dunwall's biggest open sewer."

"The stink of the Flooded District's not so bad," Daud drawls, though Corvo starts to move again. "I prefer it to the two-faced corruption in the Estate District."

Corvo shakes his head slowly, but doesn't disagree, and soon they emerge down a set of slimy, winding large corridors into a large cavern, its walls covered in scratchings and runes. There's a dais to the side, with a set of metal stocks - empty, thankfully - and a stained, empty bathtub that stinks of sewage even from where they stand at the entrance. A walkway leads up two levels of bric-a-brac, drawings, posters and books, and Daud switches briefly to the void sight, sweeping the room.

"She isn't here," Corvo says, a moment later, probably having done the same.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Daud transverses up to the top level of the walkways, heading towards a burrowed room to his left. It's an Outsider shrine, and propped on top of it, where a rune would normally be, is a small painting of what looks to be a blue and purple whorl of paint, chaotic and messy. Beside it, lying fallen on the ground, is a familiar purple lantern, that pulses and stirs in the void sight, an artefact not quite of the world it lies in.

He picks it up and passes it before the small painting, just as he did before in the Brigmore Manor. The purple light stirs, then brightens starkly, even as Daud feels Corvo grip his hand with a sharp question; but the light swallows voice, swallows sight and sound and touch itself for a fraction of pure unreality - and then they're standing in what looks like a noblewoman's bedroom, the floor in front of the bed sundered with a gap that spills a brilliant white light.

Daud shakes off Corvo's grip, circling the room. It's large, probably half the size of the cavern they had just left, and it's filled with all the trappings and fripperies of a woman of high society - rich carpets and tapestries, velvet drapes, gorgeous paintings on the walls. Torn scraps of a journal float in the air, and Daud glances at one of them. It's a rambling discourse about Pandyssia in a female hand, cut short with a rip of the page, and at the dresser, Corvo's picking up a framed painting of a dark-haired young woman, beautiful if her expression wasn't quite so severe.

"Is this the Void?" Corvo asks.

"Not exactly. It's an in-between place. _That_ leads to the Void." Daud points to the floor. 

"How do we get back?"

"You probably know as well as I do that it'll be a question for the Outsider to decide." Daud looks to another scrap of paper, then back to Corvo. 

"Well then," Corvo walks briskly towards the gap in the floor, only to smack face-first into an invisible barrier with a yelp. Startled, Daud steps over, hands out, and his fingers come in contact with a pressure that he can't see, a barrier surrounding the gap. 

After a few futile attempts to blink through - or up - all of which just have the effect of bouncing Corvo off the shield, Corvo sits down on the bed, frustrated. "And there's no other way out of here?"

Daud's already tried the door in the room - sealed and fake - and the windows: unbreakable. He leans against the wardrobe with a shrug. "This is as novel an experience for me as it is for you."

"Well," Corvo says helplessly, throwing up his hands, "What in the Outsider's name do we do now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my playthrough I actually helped Granny poison the distillery, and then kill Slackjaw, all for runes /cough. It was only later while reading back through wikis that I realized there was a low chaos way out of it. Ah well. Pretty runes.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Corvo doesn't remember how the fight started, but once it really gets underway, Daud goes all out.

Their abilities don't work well on each other - or at least, _his_ gifts don't work on Daud - and in the end, they just end up brawling, no gifts, no spellwork. The delicate chair at the lady's writing desk lies shattered over the carpet: Corvo had landed on it when Daud had knocked him flying with a vicious kick to his belly; and one of the bedposts is half-splintered in twain from a heavy swing of Corvo's blade that had also managed to land a shallow gash over Daud's neck. 

They're both bloodied, still clashing, Daud ducking a riposte and sweeping a heel out to try and catch Corvo's ankles - Corvo leaping back up and onto the desk and coming back swinging, snarling. Years ago, he thinks, as Daud slips through his guard and grabs his wrist and uses his momentum to throw him heavily against the invisible barrier over the gap to the void - Daud would have been unbeatable. 

Now, his reactions are growing slow - Corvo grabs Daud's collar as he falls, yanks the man down with him. The wristbow attached to Daud's left hand discharges, the bolt thudding harmlessly an inch away from Corvo's ear, and Corvo's left scrambling to avoid a stab of Daud's blade. He kicks out viciously, stunning Daud momentarily and allowing Corvo to scramble free, but as he starts to raise his blade again, there's a slow clap from the bed.

The Outsider's standing beside the splintered post, clapping lazily, even as Daud sheathes his blade and gets up gingerly, spitting out a gob of blood onto the carpet. "You're late," he grunts.

"I was occupied."

"Thought you were everywhere, all the time," Daud seems surprised, and Corvo looks sharply at him, then back to the Outsider. 

Again, there's the sense that the Outsider seems... diminished, somehow. The shadows about him are grayer, smaller, and the Outsider is no longer floating above the ground. Is it possible? The sense of sheer wrongness grows in Corvo's gut, and the back of his left palm seems to itch briefly. 

"Did I have to intervene? The two of you were getting to know each other so _very_ well. Explosively well. I was enjoying the show."

Corvo doesn't like the amusement in the Outsider's tone, but he knows better than to try a retort. "Granny Rags. Where is she?"

"In the Void."

"Through there?" Daud points at the ground.

"As good a place to start as any," the Outsider agrees. "She's made quite a playground for herself, all without me noticing. It's quite a surprise." 

Daud straightens up, openly shocked, and Corvo stares at the Outsider keenly. "It's possible to hide things from you? In the _Void_?"

"There are... rituals. I thought that she remembered little of true use from her visit to Pandyssia, so very long ago. I thought wrongly." The Outsider lifts a shoulder, self-deprecatingly. "Humans are still able to surprise me. Especially the females." 

"Is this a good surprise, or a bad surprise?" Daud asks warily, and there's concern in his voice, Corvo notes.

"She has sealed this entrance. I have enough time to send you back to your world, but not much else: this has been quite an interesting little trap. I haven't felt this challenged in an age." 

"Do you want us to look into it?" Daud presses. 

"I think you've done quite enough in helping her create this quandary, my dear Daud," the Outsider says quietly, "I'm not particularly pleased with you, but I suppose you did act as you did out of ignorance. Go." Daud opens his mouth to say something else, but at a dismissive gesture from the Outsider, he disappears. 

"Wait," Corvo says quickly, when the Outsider turns to him. "Don't send me back yet. This might be arrogant of me, but if you're really in some sort of difficulty, I do owe you. I want to help. If you can counter that seal over the entrance to the Void, I can try-"

"A fine sentiment, my dear," the Outsider notes, as he steps over, his gait stiff and unpracticed, to press cool, surprisingly soft fingers to Corvo's left wrist. "But ultimately unnecessary." 

The world blurs, even as Corvo tries to ask the Outsider to wait, yet again, and then he's staggering back from the shrine in Granny Rags' lair, gasping and disoriented. The cool touch seems to linger on his wrist, even as he rubs it, blinking away the dizziness. Before him, Daud's kneeling by the purple lantern, inspecting its pieces: it's shattered on the stone floor, whatever odd luminescence within it fading fast. The small painting, as well, seems to have been washed clean - purple and blue paint now stain the tiny offering table on the shrine. 

"Fuck," Daud says quietly, as he straightens up, then he touches his fingers to the closing, small gash on his neck that Corvo had left. "This shouldn't have broken. The last time I used something like this, the painting and the lantern survived. I think he did something to this to keep us out."

"What did _you_ do? He mentioned a trap?"

Daud actually looks faintly embarrassed. "There were these... ah... recipes. Left by Granny Rags. The first one I thought was a joke, I did it because my Second... that is to say, my _previous_ Second - was curious about it. Completing the recipe resulted in a rune. So I did the others that I came across. Some of them were fairly strange, but I thought it was just something crazy thought up by a mad old lady."

"She's a witch!" Corvo groans. "Didn't you _think_?"

"Who left her alive in her lair, eh?" Daud counters. " _After_ witnessing her preparing to eat a live human being, eh?"

"At least I didn't take part in arcane rituals just for a rune reward! The first time I met her," Corvo growls, "She asked me to poison the Bottle Street Gang's distillery with the plague!" 

"Just the exact sort of request that a harmless little old lady would make, I suppose." 

Corvo sucks in his next retort. "Let me know what the rituals were. In a report. We'll... try and find a way to reverse them." 

"Should we?" Daud shrugs. "The Outsider seemed like he was having the time of his life. Or existence. Being trapped is probably 'interesting'. He _did_ destroy the way back in. Why would he do that if he wanted us to interfere?"

"I don't like the idea of... whatever Granny Rags has planned. Maybe she intends to control the Outsider, or something." Corvo shudders. "She was obsessed with him." 

"He's far older than her. Void, I think he's older than this _city_. Maybe even humanity itself. Does he need our help?"

"He seemed surprised. Have you ever seen him surprised? You've known him longer than I have." At Daud's half-shake of the head, Corvo exhales. "There. For all you know, perhaps he _can't_ escape." 

"Maybe." Daud glances back over to the shrine. "One of the rituals, ah, involved a sort of, symbolic marriage. One female corpse, one male corpse, a wedding ring, sigils." He coughs, awkwardly. "I probably still have the scraps of paper-"

"And you didn't think that was, at the least, morbidly _strange_?"

At that, Daud smiles wearily. "What part of our lives _isn't_ strange, Corvo? She came good with the bone runes, each time. The deal was decent enough for me at the time. Look," he adds, with some irritation, when Corvo sucks in another breath. "This doesn't have to be your problem. It's mine. I don't like the idea of being in the Outsider's disfavour, and you do make a good point. I'll fix it. I'll even keep you updated, if you like."

Corvo didn't like the idea at all, but he had no real plans for where to go next. He didn't have Daud's network of operatives and spies, and he had no idea how else he could go about... "The new Overseer has some 'heretics' penned up in Coldridge. I'll try to speak to them." 

"Good idea," Daud says indifferently, already moving over to Granny Rags' desk to leaf through what few books remained. When Corvo steps over to him, he adds, "I can take this from here, Corvo. Also," he continues, when Corvo hesitates, "Your footwork can be improved."

"Says the man who's lost twice to me so far," Corvo snaps.

" _Once_ , Corvo, once. I don't hold it against you. Why don't you run along now?" Daud smirks at him, and turns his attention back to the book in his hands. Viciously, Corvo briefly entertains an impulse to throw the shattered cap of the lantern at Daud's head, but in the end, he clenches his hands tight and steps up to the edge of the walkway, blinking down to the exit towards the sewers.

3.0.

Annoyingly enough, now that Daud technically has a _real_ job, he can't devote all his attention towards the Consequences of Having Inadvertently Participated in Black Magic Rituals as he would have, before. He had assigned the rest of Emily's List to Thomas, and had set another deputy to comb though Burrows' known associates for recruits and/or enemies. Other Whalers were assigned to scoping out all remaining powerful factions in the Empire - a monumental job in and of itself. Any remaining Whalers had been assigned to building up new information networks - and leaning on their existing ones.

All these jobs generated endless amounts of paperwork, and even though three Whalers were assigned nearly full time to help him with it, Daud still felt fairly inundated. But at least Mikhel and Ezekiel had been able to retrieve the purple lantern and the Void painting from the Brigmore Manor with little incident. The artifacts sat in a corner of his office in the Kingsparrow Lighthouse, now, staring at him accusingly over the pile of paperwork. 

Corvo's had no luck with the cultists locked up in Coldridge - not that Daud had thought that he would. The Outsider was, in general, mostly indifferent to humanity, even the bits of it that worshipped him. Anything that the cultists could have known was probably sheer fanatical conjecture.

"-and item four on Lady Emily's List," Thomas trudges on industriously even as Daud stares glumly at the ledger of names before him, written in Burrows' crabbed hand, "As to the matter of the identity of her real father-"

"Let me guess. It's Attano?"

"Actually, we're almost certainly convinced that it's Anton Sokolov." 

"What?" This surprises Daud enough that he looks up.

"Emily does see Corvo Attano as her father-figure, but records, servant's testimony, notes and certain gifts found within Sokolov's chambers within the Academy indicate that-" 

"But the man looks like a thin, tall bear! I've heard him described as bearing the features of a Tyvian sw..." Daud trails off. There is, he supposes, no way of really knowing about taste, even the taste of Empresses. "Does Sokolov know?"

"If he does, he's never mentioned it anywhere that we can find, or tried to take advantage of it in any way."

Daud grunts. If he recalls, Empress Jessamine Kaldwin's unexpected pregnancy had been quite the scandal at the time, eleven years ago. No father had been presented or had come forward, and Jessamine and been equally adamant to preserve the father's identity, as well as equally determined that her child - bastard child as it was - would succeed her as Empress. In the end, beginning with the capitulation of then-High Overseer Ruslow and the Oracular Order, high society had accepted Jessamine's mandate. Rumors of the child's father being anyone from a servant to the fiercely supportive Lord Protector to pirates had circulated.

At that time, Daud had already made a name for himself in the business of deadly contracts, and he had, once, in a tavern, overheard some drunken sailors discussing the possibility that 'the Knife of Dunwall' was the father, that only he had possessed the skill to break into Dunwall Tower and get past the Empress' ferocious Protector. He had laughed. 

Now it seems a little less funny. "Hn. Keep investigating that one. We'll need proof. Outsider's eyes, hopefully it isn't true. Void knows how the Empress might react."

"You could always inform her that Attano is her father, if that's what she wants to hear," Thomas says mildly, already showing a keen and disturbing tendency to bend towards Imperial whim. 

"No, she deserves the truth. Whatever it is. The Empress can't be coddled all her life, and she did ask. What's next on the list... five... hn... wasn't that something about whether or not people can fly?"

"After consulting both Piero Joplin and Anton Sokolov it was of their opinion that in time, an engine-coil operated device might create enough upward thrust to propel a man up into controlled flight. No such technological breakthrough so far has happened, although it's being investigated in Tyvia."

"Mark it as 'no, still in progress' then." Daud yawns. The List is a welcome distraction, but it's mostly harmless. "What about the rest?"

"Investigations are still underfoot."

"Any answer back from the Whalers who left for greener pastures?"

"Not yet. It's only been a few days, We could recruit," Thomas says doubtfully, "If you wish, sir." 

"Maybe. I don't trust any of Burrows' old guard, and a lot of the private merc armies employed by the now-disgraced Pendleton and Boyle families are rotten to the core. What about-"

"Ah," Thomas coughs politely, "And it's almost time for you to have to head towards the Tower." 

Daud glances over to the clock at his desk, and sighs. It's almost 'teatime' - damn a little girl's Imperial fancies. Thomas passes him his notes, wordlessly, and Daud makes good time back to the Tower. He gives his report to the Empress over lemon teacakes, is persuaded to eat two, if reluctantly, all the while trading veiled verbal jabs with a stormy-faced Corvo until Emily scowls.

"Really, why can't the two of you be friends?"

"Yes, why not, Corvo?" Daud grins at the Lord Protector, who glares at him from his position behind Emily's seat. 

"You're not very nice to him either, Daud," Emily says reproachfully. "I asked Callista about it and she said that maybe the two of you should 'work it off', though she turned red when I asked her what she meant."

"Did she now." Daud drawls, a touch surprised. So that severe, angry-faced woman had her depths.

It's a fair idea too, if Daud wasn't sure that Corvo would instantly try to cut his balls off. Daud's no stranger to the concept of working off steam with whoever was close at hand and convenient, and although he had never touched any of his subordinates, the Whalers had a fairly blasé approach to sexuality as well. Corvo's comely enough, even when scowling as he is now, though Daud supposes that there's probably enough of a stick up the sad bastard's arse that there won't be room for anything else. Heh.

"So I asked her uncle and Captain Curnow said that this sort of thing happens all the time in the guard-" 

Corvo reddens and sputters, but stays silent, and Emily adds, oblivious, "So the people who like to quarrel usually just head to a practice yard and spar. Maybe the both of you should do that. Everyday. Then you'll be friends."

"I'm not so sure that this is a great idea," Corvo protests. "Daud is an old man and-"

"If I accidentally break Corvo's nose, his face won't be as pretty anymore," Daud tells Emily, as seriously and as straight-faced as he can manage. "Then he'll be avoided in Court and will have no friends."

"You're full of sh- ah- nonsense," Corvo ends, rather lamely, and seems to settle for mouthing _you fucking bastard_ at Daud behind Emily's back. 

"I'm sure that won't happen," Emily decides firmly. "Work it out. I can't have my Lord Protector and my Spymaster arguing all the time."

"We get along quite well," Daud says mildly, rubbing his fingers meaningfully over the scabbing mark on his neck.

"Like a slaughterhouse on fire," Corvo mutters, and smirks when Daud shoots him a brief, annoyed glare.

"Every morning in the garden," Emily continues primly, as though she hadn't heard. "Or whichever other place is more convenient. I suppose if you ruin the trimmed shrubs the Royal Gardener will be awfully upset."

Corvo caves first, forever a slave to the little Empress' will. "Very well, Emily."

"There's a practice yard in Kingsparrow Island," Daud concedes. He supposes that it doesn't hurt to keep a hand in. "Might be more suitable."

"Then that's settled," Emily says cheerfully. "Daud, what were you saying about winged machines again?"

The rest of the afternoon passes pleasantly enough, and when Callista finally appears to collect the Empress for her lessons, Corvo murmurs, "Daud, one moment." 

Daud waits until the garden is empty of little girls and their minders before glancing over to Corvo. "What do you want?"

"Any progress on... our mutual friend's problem?"

"I have Delilah's lantern and her Void painting, but if that just takes us straight back to where I last met her, it probably won't help."

"Still, it's something to consider as a last resort. Anything else?"

"Sokolov was obsessed with the Outsider. We have all his notes: we're sorting through the rituals he interpreted from Pandyssia. None of the rites he tried in Dunwall worked, but perhaps that's simply because he doesn't wear the mark."

"Ah, that's right," Corvo looks a little abashed. "I forgot that Sokolov very likely first encountered evidence about the Outsider's existence in Pandyssia. Should I speak with him?"

"I doubt he knows anything of real relevance offhand - it's probably buried in his notes. Besides, I don't particularly relish the idea of _another_ obsessive personality getting his hands on a trap of this nature. Any leads on your end?"

"There's supposedly another witch who lives in northern Gristol, according to a friend of mine who spoke to a few old sailors in his bar. I might have to investigate."

"Don't bother. Give me her name and location and I'll send one of the Whalers. If she's the real deal, then I'll pay her a visit. Most of these 'witches' are probably charlatans." Daud hesitates. "Besides, I think I might be able to recreate that Void painting. It'll be haphazard and won't be remotely artistic, but I think that the ingredients that go into the paint matter more than the painting itself. I've had Whalers analysing Granny Rags' notes and the ingredients of the paint pigments."

"But then we'll just be stuck in that room with the blocked entrance to the Void," Corvo points out.

"Maybe. Or maybe we can make our own version of the room. I'll have to see."

"It's not much to go out on."

"That's my problem. Not yours."

Corvo exhales irritably, then he stalks away, and Daud grins to himself as he gets to his feet. He looks around himself, then takes himself across the garden with a transversal, experimentally - then he frowns as he lands several feet short of his target. Rubbing absently at his gloved hand, he exhales. "Ezekiel."

Ezekiel appears at his side - or tries to: the Whaler has landed, rather awkwardly, a few steps behind him. "Sir." 

"Get the word out. Something's going wrong with the Outsider's gift. Use it very carefully." 

"Yes, sir. Should I inform Corvo, as well?" 

Daud starts to answer, then he pauses and smirks. "He can figure this one out himself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of dodgy stuff that I'm willing to do for bone runes...
> 
> RE: Emily's father: If you use the Heart on Sokolov, it'll apparently say-  
> "Anton Sokolov. He knew me once. And did much to set me on my path."  
> "Yes, Sokolov's a foreigner - with the looks and manner of a Tyvian Swineherd. But he is also a great genius."


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Corvo won't admit this even under torture, but he's actually starting to enjoy his morning sparring sessions with Daud. It's a pleasure to spar with someone at his skill level: exhilarating, exhausting in a good way, deadly as it is - Daud's not bothered with niceties, and Corvo's learned more ugly, dirty tricks over the last week than he has in years.

The bruises and minor injuries that Daud inflicts on him everyday also has an unexpected benefit: Corvo feels more... _balanced_ , somehow. He no longer worries constantly about the Heart, or about the minor intricacies of political Court machinations and security matters and the million little details that keep an Empire afloat and running. 

They've made little further progress on the problem of the Outsider: the supposed witch in northern Gristol had, as Daud had thought, turned out to be a fake. Daud did seem confident of a breakthrough on Sokolov's rituals and the paint pigment, however. Corvo remains unsettled - it's obvious that their abilities have been diminished, and he supposes that he's... worried, as powerful and as ancient as the Outsider may be. He's beginning to regret not having disposed of the mad old witch when he had the chance.

"Pay attention," Daud growls, and scissors his feet out from under him. Corvo rolls with the fall, growling, and strikes instantly the moment he regains his balance, ramming the hilt of his blade against Daud's wrist. Daud jerks back, and the hilt snaps with a ringing slap against the flat of Daud's upraised blade, cutting a light gash into Corvo's palm.

It stings, but even as Daud grins at him, Corvo shoves back and manages to slam a fist into Daud's stomach. The assassin doubles over with a muffled yelp, and Corvo presses his advantage, jabbing his heel into the back of Daud's knee and sending Daud crashing into the ground. Even as he steps over to disarm Daud, however, Daud rolls onto his back, a shot fired from his wristbow slamming high into Corvo's shoulder. 

Daud had aimed to miss - Corvo doesn't doubt that the bolt could have just as quickly have buried itself in his throat. Daud grins at him, his teeth bloodied and bared, and Corvo kicks him in the ribs for his trouble, making him grunt and roll out of range. Grabbing for the bolt, Corvo grits his teeth as he jerks it out of his shoulder, tossing it aside. The wound _burns_ , but he's tasted blood now - he goes after Daud, who's still winded, and it doesn't take long for Corvo to finish the job, disarming Daud with a deft flick of his wrist and sending his blade clattering away.

He points the edge of his blade at Daud's neck, and Daud melodramatically raises his hands palms up in surrender. "We should employ a points system," Daud suggests dryly. "Rather than decide the matter on whoever's left standing."

"I thought we weren't keeping count," Corvo pushes his blade forward, just enough to indent Daud's skin - Daud doesn't even flinch. 

"Where's the fun of it without stakes?"

"Were we betting on stakes?"

"I think it's been building up to that for a while," Daud drawls, and he steps back sharply even as he knocks Corvo's blade aside with the back of his leather bracer, lunging over. Corvo snarls, grabbing Daud by his collar and whirling them around, slamming Daud into the wall. 

Daud laughs, and he keeps laughing even as blind adrenaline and hatred burn in his blood like the violence buried deep in his soul: Corvo snarls and drags Daud's wrists up to pin them over his head, a thumb jammed into the spring mechanism in the wristbow. " _Give_ ," Corvo growls - then he stiffens up with a stifled yelp as Daud merely leans sharply over to bite. 

Teeth sink into Corvo's lower lip, and Corvo gulps down a taste of his own copper-bright blood before he's muffling another snarl, dropping his own blade, his free hand hooking up under Daud's throat. Daud chokes, gasps, then starts to laugh all over again, up until Corvo crushes their mouths back together, teeth cutting into lips and the edge of his tongue and now Daud's growling, squirming and jerking against Corvo's grip on his wrists like a cuffed animal. 

"Now what?" Daud gasps, when Corvo lets them up for breath, "You don't have the fucking balls."

"Shut _up_ ," Corvo snaps, and it's as though they're both maddened by blood and blood-lust - Corvo licks into Daud's mouth as he kisses him, this time, pressed flush against him. 

Daud's moan shakes against Corvo's lips and then he's squirming until he gets to rub against Corvo's thigh, all stifled, hungry groans. He jerks again against Corvo's grip, but hisses and stills when Corvo growls and tips his head down to close his teeth high over Daud's neck, under his jaw where his collar won't hide it, just hard enough to draw blood. Daud makes a high and strangled sound that collapses into a gasp as Corvo licks into the new wound he has wrought, and he realizes, dimly, that he's as hard as Daud, that this is getting further too quickly, too far. 

"Daud," Corvo hisses, and Daud makes another wounded noise that has the bite of cruel laughter to its tail.

"Knew you didn't have the balls," Daud whispers back, challenging him, and Corvo draws back to glare at him coldly, flushed hot; no one he has ever touched has burned his blood like this. 

"But we don't even-"

"Like each other? I can deal." Daud grins, merciless. "What, d'you want flowers and fucking champagne? You never struck me as the sort, _Lord_ Protector. Tell me, did you ever fuck Empress Jessamine-"

"Don't you _dare_ say her name," Corvo snarls, getting his free hand back around Daud's neck and snapping his head back against the wall. "I'll cut your Void-damned throat-"

"The problem with you, Corvo," Daud spits back, "You don't have the stomach for blood, do you? You killed Campbell. That was a good, clean kill. But the rest? You think sending those twins off to the mines without their tongues is better than death? What about Esma Boyle? D'you think any woman wants to be consigned to a life of rape and-"

"You don't know that," Corvo says fiercely, "The Outsider never said - you don't know that-"

Daud twists angrily if futilely against his grip. "I won't be lectured by a man who won't face up to his own fucking decisions."

"You're an assassin and you-"

"I killed Jessamine. Yes. I own up to it. I tried to make amends, damn you, I _tried_. I've done good by her daughter so far and Void help me, I'll do good by her for the rest of my life. I never knew my father; I grew up as a street brat and a thief who didn't know fuck all about life until the Outsider came to me. So my sense of morality might be fucked, but I know that, and I'm trying to catch up. Satisfied?" 

The rage bleeds a little out of Corvo, but not all - he finds he has no verbal answer but to kiss Daud again, to taste blood between them and the death of a woman who had changed the both of them, destroyed them both in different ways. He doesn't dare think of the Heart, buried deep in a velvet box within a safe in his quarters. This, perhaps, is a final betrayal of Jessamine's trust; but Corvo can't - he can't stop. 

"Fucking let my hands up, you cocksucking bastard," Daud growls, a touch breathless, though he's grinning again, challenging Corvo. It's insanity that has Corvo kiss Daud again to silence him, to drop his free hand down to his belt, frantically working at the buckle and the laces of his breeches, then Daud's. Daud laughs, harsh and surprised, nipping at Corvo's mouth.

"I swear, if you're going to leave me hanging-"

"You talk too Void-damned much for a man who's about to get what's coming to him."

"Only if you don't put your cock to better use than your mouth," Daud sneers, and Corvo stares, his own to be surprised. "What, never done it before with a man? Was the Empress-"

"First," Corvo clenches the hand he has around Daud's wrists tightly, "Shut the fuck up about her, or I _will_ stab you in the balls. Understand?" At Daud's smirk and nod, he adds, "Secondly, my affairs are not your concern, but if you're really curious, women don't turn my fancy. Satisfied?" 

"Huh." Daud arches an eyebrow. "So maybe Thomas was right about question four." 

"What are you talking about-" Corvo chokes down into a moan as Daud jerks over to kiss him, and he's hungry and dazed by the time he takes control, turning Daud sharply around, forcing the assassin to brace himself against his elbows on the stone. 

Daud has one of Sokolov's elixirs strapped to his belt - it'll do well enough for slick as he does for minor wounds. Daud starts laughing again as Corvo uncorks the vial, his cheek pressed against his gloves and his shoulders shaking, even when Corvo clenches a hand down over Daud's hip and kicks Daud's legs open as far as his shoved-down breeches will let him. He takes a sip, just enough to close his shoulder wound, then he pours some of the vial over his fingers.

Corvo doesn't bother being gentle, especially when Daud merely growls and tries to push back against the fingers that Corvo's pressing into him. He's clean, at least, thank the Void, and clearly impatient - Daud's no stranger to this either, and _that's_ surprising. He's never pegged Daud as the sort who would spread his legs for anyone: but then again, if the entire fiasco of the last few months had proved anything to Corvo, it's that he's a Void-damned poor judge of character. 

Daud makes an impatient sound when Corvo manages three fingers, and finally gasps, "Will you get _on_ with it? Some of us have - unfh - Outsider's teeth, are you going to-" 

"Shut up," Corvo grunts, though he obliges, pulling away his fingers with a wet pop to slick himself up with what's left of the elixir, then tossing the vial at their feet. When he first presses deep, Daud's groan rattles against his gloves, his fists clenched against the wall, and viciously, Corvo hopes it hurts. He knows it does. His fingers creep down between Daud and the wall, groping, and Daud's groan hitches higher as Corvo gets unsteady, slicked fingers around Daud's heavy cock as he presses deeper into the tight, gritty heat. It's glorious.

Daud starts squirming almost immediately, flashing Corvo the bloodied white of his teeth over his shoulder, his cold eyes wild for once and shocked with lust; Corvo finds himself rolling his hips, experimentally at first, then when Daud curses him in an unintelligible string of words he shifts his weight on the ground and pulls back, just enough that when he snaps his hips back forward Daud jerks up onto the balls of his toes. 

"F-uck," Daud gasps, then he growls, "Yes, damn you, that all you've got-" and then Corvo's snarling as he takes what he can, not bothering with Daud's pleasure save for the fist he makes over Daud's cock, driving Daud up against the wall with each heavy thrust. 

The scarred side of Daud's face scrapes briefly against the stone but Corvo doesn't slow, not when he has Daud pinned like this and at his mercy. He pours his rage and anger and hatred and grief into this, tangling it filthy with base lust and want and Daud takes it all, shoving back against it, demanding more. They're monsters both, the two of them, the pair of them, and this is why his blood burns in his veins and roars in his ears; in Daud there is but the fractured mirrored nature of Corvo's soul. When Corvo comes, it's with an anguished groan, buried deep, his lips pressed tight against the back of Daud's neck.

"Hey," Daud snaps impatiently, and it's Corvo's turn to chuckle as he obligingly strokes Daud roughly, just enough to make the assassin tense up and hiss as he spills against the cold stone. Corvo pulls back gingerly, cleaning himself up the best he can with a polishing cloth he has in his pouches, but Daud merely tucks himself back in and buckles up, uncomfortable as he has to be. Corvo eyes him uncertainly, and Daud merely arches an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have somewhere else to be, Lord Protector?"

"I-"

"You want some sort of confession?" Daud snorts. "Fine. I still think that you're a sad bastard. Happy?"

"Fuck you," Corvo shakes his head slowly, unable to help the sharp laugh edging up past his throat. "I do think that this isn't what Captain Curnow was thinking of."

"T'was certainly what his _niece_ was thinking of."

"Don't you imply anything about Ca-" Corvo begins, but Daud's already vanished out of sight. He rolls his eyes, exhales, and starts to make his way out of the yard.

5.0.

Not every morning match ends up in a good fuck, but Daud makes sure that the practice yard's empty each time that Corvo shows up, just in case. At least Corvo's just as willing to take as he is to mete, and although their professional relationship is still openly antagonistic, at least the malice's starting to lessen. Emily's pleased, and that seems good enough for Corvo, who definitely has a pathetic puppy side to him, poor bastard.

He's ticking off the items on Emily's list with Thomas (Seven: Why is the sky blue? Ans: Some long-winded and complicated scientific reason about the color blue and light spectrums.) when Pharin appears in his new office, dusty with travel. 

"Sir."

"Pharin. Came back from your holiday?" 

Pharin had been one of the men whom Daud had mentally slated for the running of Second after Billie, had the whole shitshow with Delilah never escalated - he had the respect of the merc recruits, and had once led his own outfit of killers. Daud had absorbed Pharin and his men into his Whalers after a brief showdown with them over in Tyvia. 

Pharin chuckles, dry as dust. "Heard you took on the Empress' coin, old man. Decided to find a more comfortable place to retire?"

"Fuck you, if I wanted to be comfortable I would have stayed in Serkonos."

Pharin snorts. "We both know you wouldn't have lasted a week there. The place's as full of real fun as a fucking Abbey monastery." 

"I've never gone fucking in a monastery, so I'll bow to your superior experience." Daud strides forward as Pharin chuckles, harsh and low, and they clasp hands. "Good to have you back."

"Are you sure that I've come back to work for you?"

"If you're not, get out. I don't suffer freeloaders." 

Pharin grunts. "Good to have _you_ back, sir. You were fucking mopey during that whole Delilah matter, I almost put a knife in your back to put you out of your misery."

"Maybe you should've," Daud drawls, even as Thomas bristles. "Get your men settled in, then come back and see me. I've got a damned sheaf of jobs that need doing and as far as I'm concerned, the Outsider's obviously just dropped some poor bastard of a volunteer into my lap at the right time."

"You'll have to pay even a whore a fortune to get into your lap, you ugly wrangler," Pharin retorts cheerfully, and vanishes. 

"He should show more respect," Thomas grumbles, but Daud claps Thomas on the shoulder, amused. 

"I don't need respect, I need results, and Pharin's always been good at worming out unusual information. I'll set him to locating the rest of the people marked by the Outsider. Now where were we on question eight?"

Today, Corvo accosts him before he can get to the garden, and tugs him into a side room. Daud grins sharply at him. "We're not exactly in a private spot, Lord Protector. We'll be heard."

Corvo's clearly in no mood for flirtations or games: he scowls. "I found a copy of that Void painting that Granny Rags had," he says quietly. "I was visiting Sokolov's laboratory on behalf of the Empress and I saw it in his workshop. There was a series of them." 

"I'll get someone to-"

"I did the dirty work already," Corvo cuts in, reaching into his coat, and carefully drawing out a thick roll of small canvases that clearly had been carefully cut from their frames. Daud unties the binding and spreads the canvases out on the side table in the drawing room that they're in, then he holds one up and turns it in his hands in the light.

"These aren't copies. These are the originals. That's the same pigmentation. Same brush strokes. Even if none of these are exactly like the one we saw in Granny Rags' lair, they're from the same set."

"So...?"

"So," Daud says impatiently, "These are _originals_. Granny Rags must have stolen one of them. We didn't see any other paintings in her lair or in her house. She can't paint. She needed another vector."

"That's a great deal of detail to be sure of," Corvo notes doubtfully.

"In my... old line of work," Daud amends, "It pays to have an eye for small detail, Corvo. I think we've finally caught a break on this Void-damned matter. I'll try it tonight. Good spot." 

"You'll try it?"

"I said it was my problem, didn't I? I broke it, I'll fix it. I'll be prepared - the Whalers can transcribe the most relevant of Sokolov's rituals into a book for me within the next few hours."

"I'm coming with you."

Daud jerks his thumb at the door. "You're needed here, with your precious little Empress, aren't you?"

"So we'll deal with whatever it is in there and then come back. Daud," Corvo adds sharply, "If Granny Rags... returns, with the power of the Outsider behind her, the _full_ power, I think the city will be in for a damned sight worse than a rat plague."

"You think that I can't handle it?"

"I think that it's better to be sure that a magical catastrophe doesn't spill over into Dunwall."

"That's the worst case scenario." 

"I'm not an optimist." Corvo shrugs. "If you won't take me along, then I'm not going to give you these paintings."

"Fine. Do what you want. But if this works - if we get into the Void - you're going to have to follow my lead. I have more experience with the Void than you do, and I probably have a better instinct for traps." Daud glares at Corvo, holding his stare, and after a long moment, Corvo nods curtly.

"Agreed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as far as I'm concerned I have fulfilled the prompt. XD;; now to veer completely off the reservation!


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

Daud is still in the process of giving Thomas last minute instructions when Corvo arrives in his office on Kingsparrow Island. The Whalers had been busy - several of the lower levels Corvo had passed had already been refitted into training rooms, a library, some complicated chemical laboratory, a workshop and some sort of obstacles room with plinths and hanging beams.

"-proceed on the current plans. Ah, Corvo, just a minute." Daud says, without looking around, when Corvo steps inside the office. "In the event that we fail to return in a month... a month should be fair enough notice, I think - inform the Empress of our probable demise and take over operations as Royal Spymaster unless Empress Emily decrees otherwise-"

"And I thought I was pessimistic," Corvo cuts in dryly.

"Helps to be prepared," Daud retorts. "About Emily's misuse of the messenger system-"

"What?" Corvo interrupts suspiciously.

Daud shoots Corvo a brief glower, and it's Thomas who answers, in a perfectly bland voice, "The Lady Emily has, to date, instructed the Whaler on duty at the time to fetch things for her, play pranks on the unsuspecting, play hide and seek with her in the Royal Library, and do her homework, Lord Protector."

Corvo scowls. "I wasn't informed."

"If it's much comfort," Daud drawls, " _I_ wasn't told until late this morning either, and only by a slip up." He glares at Thomas pointedly. "They're there to _guard_ her or carry messages, not play with her. Get the word out. Now about the Tyvian glassmer situation-"

He briefs Thomas on a surprising variety of other intricate political matters: Corvo hadn't realized that Daud had managed to unearth _this_ much detail on the Imperial political system since his appointment. Or maybe the information had always been there. That would be more likely.

It takes about twenty minutes, which Corvo spends waiting with growing impatience in a corner of the room, then finally, Daud shakes hands gruffly with his Second, and gestures for Corvo to approach. 

"Right then. Which painting d'you want to try?"

"Whichever seems closest to the one in the lair. Your 'trained' memory's probably better than mine," Corvo says sardonically.

Daud glowers briefly, but he spreads out Corvo's offered roll of paintings over his desk, then picks one out from the rest. "This one." He props it up against a side table, and nods as Thomas passes him the purple lantern, then he mockingly offers his hand to Corvo with a courtier's flourish. "Shall we, my Lord?"

"If this doesn't work, it fucking serves you right," Corvo says flatly even as he grabs Daud's wrist, but even as Daud passes the lantern across the small painting, the world starts to warp and reel-

-and they're in what looks like an attic. A loft room, tiny and cramped, with a pointed peak of a ceiling and an open skylight leading out into a sun-drenched city. Karnaca, Corvo decides, as he surveys the port and the sea and the familiar, squat landmark of the city hall to his right. 

The rest of the room, unlike the previous in-between place they had visited, is empty but for an unmade cot and a trapdoor next to it. There's no gash in the ground filled with white light, no randomly floating pieces of furniture, and Corvo's about to irritably suggest to Daud that they've somehow made an extremely long transversal rather than stepped into an in-between dimension when he realizes that Daud is very pale and silent indeed. 

"What?" Corvo asks warily, looking around again sharply.

"This..." Daud glances at the cot, then back to the window, then he seems to shake himself. "That's interesting."

"If we're in Karnaca, we're going to have to charter a steamship back-"

Daud interrupts him with a sharp laugh. "We're not in Karnaca. Or at least, if we are, we're not in the _present_ Karnaca. See that lighthouse over there? That's how it looked like _decades_ ago. No, we're where we need to be."

"In the past?" Corvo asks, confused.

"Don't you see? This _is_ the half-way place. That lady's bedroom that we were in, with the scraps of paper - I wager that's Granny Rags' bedroom, when she was younger."

"This was yours?" Corvo looks around with a new, critical eye. He's about to say something sarcastic about its sheer, empty starkness, but Daud's shaken expression stops the words in his throat, and he rephrases, more gently, "When you were a boy?"

"The memory's a... it's a strong memory."

"Granny Rags' room didn't have a view - the windows just showed a black emptiness outside."

"Escape wasn't what she desperately wanted," Daud mutters, with a final, haunted glance at the window, then he steps over to the trapdoor, trying to drag it up. 

It doesn't budge, even when Corvo tries to help, and when they straighten up, panting and cursing, the Outsider's standing by the small window, his hands folded behind his upright back, watching the lighthouse. The shadows behind him are dimmed now, a pale lavender grey, static and flickering, and he no longer wears the brown jacket and gray breeches that Corvo remembers: instead, he's dressed richly, in a sleek jet black coat with silver-embroidered sleeves, a foaming cravat at his neck and pale blue breeches, a dusting of lace at his slender wrists, bucket-topped boots and ornate buckles. 

It's decades out of fashion, and a nagging suspicion starts to worm to light in Corvo's mind, even as Daud frowns and takes a step over. "Are you all right?" he asks gruffly.

"I do believe that I told you to... how _do_ you mortals phrase it... 'mind your own business'." The Outsider doesn't turn to look at him. "The view is as lovely now as it was decades before, when I first came to you here, dear Daud. Do you remember?"

"I remember." Daud's voice takes on a note of respect. "You changed my life-"

"You were far more interesting then," the Outsider continues, as though he hadn't heard. "Brash and arrogant and so very angry at the entire world. I think you were the first and only one of my Chosen who tried to pull a knife on me at our very first meeting rather than be properly overawed."

Daud shrugs. "I was a dumb brat. Still am, in some ways. Besides, if I recall, _you_ thought that it was hilarious. Now are you going to let me fix what I've done or not? I'm sorry for what I did."

"I'm not convinced that it's necessary. Or preferable." 

"But-" Corvo starts, though he cuts himself off when Daud shoots him a glare.

Turning back to the Outsider, Daud adds, in a low, reasonable tone, almost a rumbling purr, "Maybe it's not. I'm sure that you can take care of yourself. But won't it be more entertaining for you if we're added into the game? You thought it was fun to watch me counter Delilah, didn't you? You enjoyed it when Corvo and I were trying to cut each other to ribbons. How about it? Won't it be fun watching us try and fight a witch on her own hunting ground? Sounds like Granny Rags is more powerful than Delilah was."

"They each had different talents," the Outsider says mildly, though he does turn to look over at Daud. "You _and_ Corvo against Granny Rags might constitute an unfair advantage - normally. But I think that my gift might not work for you in her playground."

"It's not working very well _out_ of her playground," Daud mutters, and the Outsider's head tilts. "Surprised?"

"It was a logical conclusion," the Outsider notes, though his tone changes a fraction. Corvo shivers. The Outsider had seemed... uncertain. But that was impossible.

"Imagine how fun life has become for all the rest of the people whom you've given your mark to, eh? D'you really want to risk losing so many avenues of your usual entertainment just to play a few rounds of games with one old witch?"

"I think you place a rather unusual weight on your volume of interest to me, my dear," the Outsider says, though he's amused as he reaches out to touch a scabbed scar on Daud's neck, a remnant of one of Corvo's too-deep bites. Daud flinches at his touch, his eyes widening.

"Your hand. It's _warm_."

"So it is," the Outsider muses, unperturbed. "It's the nature of the game. Corvo, you're being unusually silent."

Corvo clears his throat. "Ah, well, I did agree to let Daud take the lead in this matter. But I do agree with him."

"You'll risk leaving Emily alone? Unprotected?"

"I fully intend to return to her side after this."

The Outsider laughs, and it's so unsettling a sound that Corvo stiffens. Little of it is human or kind, and the crackle of it echoes in the room with an unearthly peal. "Very well, Daud, Corvo. If you do wish to interfere, I expect a good show."

"The best," Daud promises, with a sharp grin. 

"You'll remain unnoticed in her realm as long as you don't draw undue attention. My mark on your hands should amount still to so much. But I suppose I should warn you both," the Outsider drawls, as he trails his hands up to cup Daud's cheeks, tugging him down, "A witch's jealousy is a most dangerous thing. As is _mine_." 

To Corvo's shock, the Outsider kisses Daud, and it's no innocent kiss, even as Daud stiffens in equal astonishment; it's fierce, possessive- and when the Outsider abruptly vanishes, Daud staggers back against the windowsill, wide-eyed. 

"What in the name of the Void-" he sputters, wiping his mouth, even as the trapdoor swings open with a thump, spilling a brilliant white light. 

"We had better fix this mess," Corvo suggests, unsettled. "He's becoming... _human_ , isn't he? Is that what the rituals have done? Did he just - why did he just-"

Daud mutters something ugly under his breath, then he seems to shake himself out of his shock, stepping over to the trapdoor. "Let's just get this over with. I'm never going to be able to look at that black-eyed bastard the same way ever again."

6.0.

They appear on the John Clavering Boulevard - or at least, the Boulevard as it used to be, decades ago. Corvo flinches as a horse-drawn carriage clatters past, its huge, black snorting horse clad in heavy steel barding, shaking its proud mane. The air is greasy with the scent of another old anomaly that Daud remembers from his childhood in Serkonos - _lamp oil_ \- and the lights of the city are dimmed, with no hint at all of the pale gleam of whale oil anywhere.

"Outsider's fucking balls," Daud mutters, glancing past his shoulder towards the docks. "Another fucking history lesson."

Instead of a sea dotted with steamships, there are only tallships, their sails furled as they lay at anchor. This is Dunwall before Esmond Roseburrow and his whale-oil powered technological revolution, Daud concludes, blinking slowly. 

"Was Granny Rags this old?" Corvo whispers, hushed. "If she's built a playground from her childhood memories?"

"How should I know?" Daud glares around about himself, ill at ease. "Maybe she thinks it'll flatter the Outsider, making a copy of pre-whale-oil Dunwall. She's a crazy old lady." He glances down at himself, then at Corvo. "At least the Outsider thought to dress us properly," he adds sourly. "Him and his Void-damned sense of humour."

Corvo's lips twitch briefly upwards, and Daud considers, for a long moment, punching him in the mouth. Corvo's clearly dressed as a nobleman, in a dated version of his usual navy coat, vest and breeches, but Daud's clothes are plain homespun, equally clearly that of a manservant's. At least they still both have their weapons and gear, and when he pats his pockets, he feels the outline of the book of rituals that the Whalers had transcribed. 

"She hasn't seen my face before. Maybe the Outsider thought that I would stand a better chance of infiltrat-"

"She hasn't seen mine either." Daud points out. "And your face is far better known about Dunwall than mine was. No, this was just petty revenge on his part, damn his eyes. Let's get off the street. Find some place to work from as a base and then scope out the area. We've got to find her-"

"If she's recreating her youth," Corvo interrupts, "Then she'll be in the Estate District. The Outsider said that she used to be a noblewoman, probably a really wealthy one - he mentioned that she turned down an Emperor's marriage proposal. I think I saw her name in one of the books at her house."

"Vera Moray, aye." Daud cuts in. "I saw that book. Said something about grand parties. That's probably the best way in. Security's usually awful and everyone's nicely drunk by the time the evening gets on."

They make their way to the Estate District at a brisk walk - nothing too obvious, nothing too slow. It's strange just _walking_ somewhere in Dunwall - Daud usually has few causes to keep to the streets when a series of transversals over its rooftops serves him better, and he's fighting an itchy sense of being watched. It's making him tense and jumpy, and a glance at Corvo indicates that Corvo's just as affected.

Pity. Given other circumstances, Daud would have enjoyed himself. Granny Rags' recreation of pre-revolution Dunwall seemed beautifully accurate, and Daud would have liked to explore this old version of the soul of the city. It's an impressive sort of magic, this detail, down to the passers-by walking past who sometimes speak to each other, in a dated tongue: far more than Delilah's little stage or Daud's and Corvo's tricks. 

His admiration of the detail of this new, larger stage lasts all the way up until they reach the great canals dividing the Estate District from the rest of the City. Instead of water, the damned canals are filled with a seething, living mass of chittering _rats_.

Corvo hastily tugs Daud into a dark side alley, even as he's about to walk out for a better look. "She controls rats," he whispers to Daud.

"Maybe you should have mentioned this to me _earlier_ ," Daud retorts, in a low tone. "What else can she do?"

"Turn into rats, according to Slackjaw's men. Er. Summon a thick mist. Wield the wind. She can also, ah, transverse."

"Fantastic. It's clear that her abilities have only improved." 

"It's also said that she's immortal," Corvo adds helpfully.

"Maybe you should have thought to tell me all this _before_ I talked the Outsider into letting us play in the game?" Daud pinches at the bridge of his nose. "Two against one does _not_ seem like good odds any longer. _Even_ if we had our abilities."

"You've got a reputation for beating the odds. As do I." Corvo mutters, matter-of-factly. "Obviously we can't use the bridges. Any other ways into the District that don't involve the sewer systems?"

"We could set fire to all those critters?"

" _Daud_ -"

"I was _joking_. Blast. This would be easier with our abilities."

"The Outsider said that our abilities 'might not' work," Corvo points out. "Not 'definitely will not'."

"Well, you try it then. Transverse somewhere. Don't break your neck."

"The dark vision works," Corvo says peevishly, and then after a second, vanishes and reappears higher up, on a balcony. "There. No problem at-"

There's a sudden roar, a chittering howl from the throats of millions of rats, and only instinct propels Daud to transverse himself up to the balcony as well. He flattens himself quickly within the apartment it opens into, even as a furtive glance out shows him that a tide of rats has poured out of the canal, scuttling over the ground in a hideous, furry tide, pouring into the alley where they were before. The rats mill about, hissing and snuffling with a single, monstrous hive mind, even as Daud and Corvo hastily creep to the other side of the apartment and leap over the gap to the opposite walkway, just in case, but the search doesn't seem to go for long - eventually, the awful, droning hissing fades away.

Daud lets out a long, slow breath. "Damnation!"

"That's good to know-"

"What's good to know? That if we use our abilities we'll be _eaten by rats_?"

"-She can't really sense us," Corvo says mildly, though he's a little pale. "Not for very long. And not in a great amount of detail. As long as we keep moving if we use our abilities, she can't immediately locate us."

"But she knows that we're here, in her realm," Daud mutters. "We've lost the element of surprise."

"Part of it." Corvo looks around the apartment that they're in grimly, then he gets to his feet. "This place is as good as any. Help me rat-proof it, and we can use it as a base. There's a ladder from that walkway that drops down to the ground, and it's close to the Estate District." 

"Or we could bend time to get over that pit of rats and nose about in the Estate District," Daud points out.

"It's still in the middle of the afternoon. No self-respecting party will start so early." Corvo's already locking the door and shoving the mat in the apartment into the gap. "Are you going to help, or stay there and grumble?"

Daud helps, pushing a cabinet against a vent and closing all the windows tightly. The apartment is small and supplied with a bed, a kitchenette, canned foods and running water. Daud wonders how far the construction goes. Does the food... taste like anything? Or the water? Would anyone try to come home to the apartment? 

They decide not to try the food or the water unless absolutely necessary, and Daud hands the book of rituals to Corvo without protest when Corvo asks for it. He goes to stand out in the balcony instead, watching the street, restless. The Outsider's kiss had _burned_ , and although it hadn't stirred his blood like Corvo's had, when there was blood on their blades and in their mouths, it had thoroughly unsettled him all the same. 

It's an absolutely inappropriate sensation, mixed - yes, maybe - with a little bit of curiosity and... no. The Outsider is a God. _His_ God. He might look like a pretty, slender boy, but Daud knows that the Outsider's preferred avatar is nowhere near his real form in appearance in the least. This latest development has to be an aberration from that Void-damned set of rituals, and for that he can only blame his own avarice.

"Look at this one," Corvo says from behind him. "For Sight Unseen." 

"We're already meant to be invisible. You don't see rats swarming up here, do you?"

"She'll still recognise us on sight, I should think. Like you said, our faces are famous in Dunwall. This might help us blend in, according to your Whalers' notes."

" _Sokolov's_ notes," Daud corrects, padding over to look. "Let me see that. Hn. Hiding in plain sight. Promising. I do like the sound of it. Ingredients?"

"Powdered fire to light only our eyes... I presume that's gunpowder - blood of the bound man... that's likely just what we have in our veins... skin of a singer of the void...?"

"Whaleskin," Daud concludes, with disgust. 

"So we'll have to visit a slaughterhouse?" Corvo arches an eyebrow. "Would there even be slaughterhouses in this time period? Or this playground?"

"If it's period accurate, aye. There were slaughterhouses, before whale oil's many uses were discovered. Whale meat was still sold for cheap." Daud grunts. "I know the way."

"Don't blow it up this time."

"Fuck you, Attano."


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

The slaughterhouse raid had gone off with no incident. Daud was a master at what he did, even hobbled with no powers, and this too is a joy - having a partner every bit as good as Corvo himself was. Adrenaline and triumph had burned just as brightly in Daud as it had in Corvo - once they were back in the apartment, it's Daud who drags Corvo over for a biting kiss, growling when Corvo shoves him against the wall and takes back as much as he gets. 

Daud's the one panting at the end of the kiss, and he grins sharply, still trapped against the wall. "Maybe not a good time."

"You started it."

"My arm's getting tired holding this canister."

"Nobody can avoid getting old."

Daud growls, rolling his eyes when Corvo smirks and steps away. They place their grisly trophies down on the floor of the apartment - a canister of whale blood and a sliver of rubbery whale skin. Daud waves him aside, then he gets to his knees and starts to paint a complicated sigil of runes and signs on the ground with the whale blood, using his gloved fingers. Corvo retreats to the corner, close to the balcony and away from the stink of the blood, reading Daud's book.

"The port side eye of a newly dead whale and a dead weeper... what did this ritual do?"

From the floor, Daud pauses briefly, then he continues writing sigils in an arcane language on the boards. "The Outsider's true form is an immortal whale. The rituals are symbolic. This one bound a symbol of his immortal form - made sightless and mortal - with a human form, one that was alive and decaying: the meaning of mortality itself. Immortality through to mortality. A leviathan, to a human. And before you grumble about how I should have known about this earlier, this was Thomas' recent opinion, not mine."

Corvo turns a page, and finally notices the neat, if crabbed annotations. "Take the World... a tarot card, I see your note. Or Thomas' note, I suppose. You laid it on one of the Outsider shrines, bled your palm over it, and burned it in the hearth of a 'lawless man'?"

"This one was Eamon's idea. Tarot decks represent anything from life to fate to death to eternity. The World card, tied to the Outsider and to human blood, destroyed and made lawless - it helped her create this world in her own human image, with her own rules." Daud draws a sharp, angry line across his jagged circle. "I hope this damned ritual here works, or I'm going to feel like a Void-damned idiot."

Corvo smirks, though he keeps reading. "The wedding re-creation seems obvious... but the last one is odd. By your notes, you flushed three river krust pearls down a basin of sorts?"

"Nobody could understand that one. You can read all the theories if you like, but I don't prefer any of them." 

Corvo flips a few pages, and reluctantly, has to agree with Daud's assessment. "'Misery of a broken house'," he muses.

"My guess?" Daud straightens up from his scrawled sigil, "She was a crazy woman. Doubt everything was relevant. I don't even understand sane, normal women sometimes, let alone crazy, old and powerful witches."

"You've underestimated her before."

"So have you. Now get over here. I don't want to be the only one making a fool of myself." 

Corvo carefully places the book in his pocket and steps over, as Daud arranges the whaleskin piece and pours out the gunpowder from a bullet onto the slick, still bloody flesh. "Have you ever ... performed a ritual of any sort before?"

"No. First time for everything," Daud says, with grim cheer, even as he pulls off the glove on his left hand with his teeth and tucks it into his belt. "Knife out." 

They bleed the palms of their marked hands onto the skin, gingerly, and the blood seeps and mingles with the gunpowder and the whale blood. Nothing happens, and they stare at the mess on the floor for a long moment, then Daud shrugs. "Eh. It was worth a try."

"Maybe we could... light some candles?" Corvo says doubtfully. "Or straighten out the lines, or try other sigils-"

"The two of you are beginning to embarrass me," the Outsider drawls from the balcony, and Corvo whirls around. Daud's quicker - he's already a step ahead, studying the Outsider carefully. Here, in the Void, the Outsider's shadows are gone - or almost gone: the pooled dark beneath his feet seems deeper than theirs. 

"Got your attention, didn't we?" Daud notes, with a grin, but he gets a slight frown for his troubles.

"I said to _entertain_ me, Daud. I'm not entertained as yet."

"There be a problem of a great many man-eating rats," Daud jerks his thumb at the balcony. 

"Your skills still work. Improvise. I thought that was your specialty, my dear." The Outsider touches Daud's bleeding palm. The wound closes, and he steps stiffly over to Corvo, closing his wound as well. "No rituals work in this version of the Void but hers. That's the meaning of the business with the World card. Didn't you realize?"

There's an unsettling impatience to the Outsider's tone where before there had only been a rather immortal, condescending disinterest where time and eternity was concerned, and Corvo swallows his nerves. "What about the ritual with the pearls?"

"No more hints, or this won't be any fun at all," the Outsider says flatly, then he stiffens up when Daud steps up behind him, inches away from pressing close, drawling against the Outsider's ear.

"Might be levelling the playing field."

The Outsider doesn't step away, though he does purse his lips slightly, glancing between Corvo and Daud, his expression unreadable, then he smiles suddenly, thin and lazy and merciless, like his old self. He catches Corvo's chin between his thumb and forefinger and tugs: it seems so very natural just to obey, and as inevitable as the kiss is, Corvo's still dully shocked by it all. 

The Outsider doesn't kiss like a human: there's no tenderness to it and there's a touch too much force, the pressure feels off, but Corvo finds himself stifling a strangled sound in his throat, and Daud's chuckling, harsh and low, against the intimate tangle of jet-black curls behind the shell of one bone-white ear. The Outsider tastes of nothing at all, but his lips are warm, searching; it's the abrupt, unexpected _devotion_ that Corvo feels, as he does this for his God, that flavours the kiss exquisite. This is perhaps the oldest form of worship, one of the purest gestures of promise.

"The both of you make a fair case." The Outsider decides, and the stutter in his words unsettles Corvo all over again, more than the possessive tone in his voice. "Very well. Sight unseen. Your powers won't trip the alarm. But I still expect a show."

"Sounds fair." Daud agrees.

"And you're still unforgiven, my Daud," the Outsider retorts, though he allows Daud to turn him about, and - of all things - permits Daud to kiss him. 

Daud's in control of this kiss, and swallowing, Corvo has enough experience by now to know what it'll feel like, for the Outsider. There'll be just enough teeth and strength to be punishing, to remind the Outsider that Daud is no maiden, a blatant hint of a killer's heart beating just inches away. Pale fingers press up over Daud's cheek, to trace a thumb over the ugly scar that runs up over Daud's face, and Daud growls, muffled and low, like a hungry wolf. 

"How's that?" Daud asks in the end, and grins wickedly. 

"The arrogant child whom I plucked out of Karnaca is returning," comes the reproach, though it's dry. "Interesting. It'll be a matter to discuss _after_ these games, however. You'll both get no further aid from me here."

"Fair enough." Daud agrees, and the Outsider vanishes. 

Gingerly, Corvo steps off the mess of bloody scrawls on the ground, even as Daud unhurriedly tugs his glove back on. "What happened to never being able to look at the Outsider the same way ever again?" Corvo demands. 

Daud shrugs. "We got what we wanted, didn't we?"

"Did you just..." Corvo trails off, mildly appalled. "Just to get some sort of _advantage_?"

" _You_ didn't object strenuously. Quite the opposite, in fact." Daud points out irritably. "Do you want to get the outraged virgin act out of your system before or after we break into the Estate District? Because it's getting on my Void-damned _nerves_."

"... Never mind. I don't want to be reminded of this any furth-"

"Besides," Daud adds blithely, as he steps over to the balcony, "Haven't you even remotely thought about the idea since he kissed me, in that in-between place? He's turning mortal here, after all. Imagine the possibilities."

"Thank you," Corvo says tightly, after a strained moment, "As though the situation that we're in isn't already _intensely_ uncomfortable."

"You're welcome."

7.0.

The party in the gigantic Moray estates is lavish and full of music and good food and social butterflies and increasingly drunken nobles. Daud would rather have slowly bled out his wrists in a sink than set foot in the place, especially in his 'role' as Corvo's 'manservant'. Things had proceeded fairly well, up until the serving staff had hustled him out of the main hall with murmured sounds of shock at his 'temerity', and Daud had contented himself with shooting Corvo's smirking face one last furious glare before he had allowed himself to be escorted to the servant's wing. 

He briefly and viciously hopes that Corvo gets eaten by rats, even as he follows the maids to the plainer, duller section of the estate where apparently all the hangers-on and staff of the Lords and Ladies in the Void-damned place were milling about, waiting for their masters to finish destroying their livers with alcohol. Slipping away from his minders is easy enough - no one notices one missing manservant in a sea of servile faces - and he sneaks easily past a patrolling guard to the upper floor of the mansion, keeping an ear out both for guards and rats. 

Daud's never had to hide from rats before, which is a novelty that entertains him briefly until it gets old and simply frustrating. There seems to be scores of them about, huddled in packs in certain rooms, once even in the middle of a corridor. Daud's fairly sure that killing some of the Void-damned creatures probably constitutes 'undue attention', and progress around the labyrinth of the top level of the mansion is painfully and frustratingly slow.

He creeps desultorily past a few empty rooms, wondering what in the Outsider's name he's really trying to accomplish, nosing blindly about in a witch's territory, when the sound of muffled voices at a room down an oddly narrow corridor to his left gives him pause. It's a bit of a squeeze, especially to kneel down and put his eye to the keyhole: the door's oddly small, about two heads smaller than a normal door, and unlike the other polished mahogany doors, this one seems to be made of iron. 

It takes a moment of confusion for Daud to realize that annoyingly enough, from the keyhole, he can only get a skewed perspective of the room beyond, looking up, like a child's view. There's a pretty, dark-haired girl, pale-skinned and pretty, just on the cusp of blooming into a gorgeous woman, in a pretty cream frock of silk and velvet, speaking vehemently to a severely dressed man, thin and tall in a sharply cut charcoal suit. There's enough similarity between their features for Daud to decide that the man is, at the very least, the girl's-

"-this is _unfair_ , father!" The girl throws up her hands. "Why _must_ I marry! Why _can't_ I enrol in the Academy of Natural Philosophy? I'm _just_ as good as anyone else out there! You know I am! You've given me tutors! Books!"

"I've indulged you for a long time, Vera," the man says tiredly, "Since your mother passed away, I've given you everything that you've wanted. I see that it has but put the worst of ideas in your head. Turned your mind against your proper place in society."

"Which is?" 'Vera' demands venomously - a young Granny _Rags_ , Daud realizes, surprised. Little Miss Vera. "To be married off to the son of one of your business associates, in return for blood money? To spread my legs to further the seed of some degenerate, inbred pup with no more intelligence in his brain as I have in one of my fingers?"

"Vera, my dear," her father tries to calm her, though he flushes, "Such language is _most_ unbecoming for a young lady."

"Oh? And is one's father's decision to marry one off without the least concern for one's desires also unbecoming?"

"Of course I will endeavour to ensure that you harbour affection for your future husband-"

"So I'm going to have a choice in this, am I?" Vera's chin raises. "I'll have a say in the ruin of the rest of my life?"

" _Vera_ ," her father's tone climbs sharply. "Know your _place_ , girl. I've let you run wild long enough. Tomorrow, you will take etiquette lessons, and embroidery lessons, and dancing, and learn all the manners of a proper lady of society."

"And my husband, _lord_ father?"

"I do not want you to be unhappy," her father sighs. "But I do want you to marry. It will be your choice."

Vera's dark eyes flash with vicious triumph, though her father seems to miss this - his eyes are averted: ashamed. She curtseys, graceful, mocking, and says, flatly, "Then I hold you to that word, _father_ ," and stalks away, right towards the door. Daud flinches away from the keyhole, scrambling back, but even as he half-expects the door to be flung open, for Vera to storm out, nothing happens.

Carefully, he glances back into the keyhole, after a long moment, and sees nothing but a dusty room, old and rotting, the rich carpet that he had just seen but moments ago long eaten away into rags by the moths.

Shivering, he rubs his face for a moment before edging out of the narrow corridor, disoriented and unnerved. Creeping along, when he's near the next corridor that branches down with the muffled sound of voices from behind the clouded glass door at the end, Daud is very nearly tempted to keep on walking.

Silently cursing his curiosity, he creeps to this door, as well, and looks into the keyhole. Little Miss Vera is Lady Vera now, her black hair caught with a silver clasp in a severe, neat cap over her face, beautiful if not quite so severe in expression. Her clothes are almost mannish, the colours faded: a black jacket with gray sleeves, a deep blue skirt and a brown vest over a brilliantly white blouse, an emerald at her throat. Time has not been kind to her father - he's stooped now, gray-haired, his skin sallow. They stand in a garden, under an apple tree, and again, Lady Vera is _furious_.

"-you cannot do this to me, father! You promised!"

"And you betrayed the spirit of our promise," Vera's father retorts, just as angrily. "You fool of a girl! Do you know what your _rude_ and... and _inadvisable_ rejection of the Emperor's proposal has wrought? You are ruined at Court! Ruined! As am I! We'll be the laughing stock of our neighbours! You'll die alone and unmarried and-"

"So be it!" Vera's laughter is triumphant and harsh and ringingly loud. "So be it! Why must a woman marry? Why must I contract out the rest of my life to serve another? Is there nothing more to my sex than to serve to propagate some nobleman's bloodline? Why must I-"

The slap is loud in the garden, and even Daud flinches where he watches. Vera stares at her father, utterly shocked, even as the old man stares back, as though surprised at his own violent action. Then Vera rubs her cheek slowly, and now her gaze burns with hatred for a moment before she turns on her heel and runs, towards the door.

"You _will_ marry Lord Preston Moray!" her father shouts after her, and Daud flattens instinctively back against the wall.

As before, the door doesn't swing open, and Daud lets out a low, soft breath. He's beginning to understand why the Outsider had found Lady Vera Moray quite so interesting after all. And he thinks perhaps that he's about to understand how this story will end as it did, in madness, in filth.

The next corridor is wider yet, and is overgrown - thick vines and roots and rotting moss cover the walls, ceiling and the ground, and the air even from the relative sanity of the carpeted main corridor is choked thick with the multilayered, living scent of a jungle. Warily, Daud edges forward, his hand clutched tight on the hilt of his blade, towards the end, which is the smooth bark of a tree, a knothole at eye level. He looks through-

Lady Vera Moray is on her knees, on a platform of black stone, set on a plateau hacked of white stone, a pyramid that seems to have risen out from a vast jungle sea around them. She is alone, and she has her face buried in her hands; she's wearing sensible clothes for a jungle trek, at least - a faded brown jacket and breeches and boots, though her clothes are worn from a hard journey, she seems unharmed. Before her is a construction of stone and vines so intricate that it takes Daud a moment to recognise the purple flowers and hanging bone ornaments on the structure for what it is - a complex, beautiful shrine to the Outsider, like a gaping maw, revealing only darkness at its heart - a pure black slab of shiny obsidian. 

Her shoulders shake, and Daud realizes that she's weeping, silently, rocking back and forth on her knees. Her eyes are reddened by the time she looks up, shaky and frightened, dazed - she's just had a vision, Daud supposes. Met the Outsider. Slowly, trembling, Vera waves her hand, and a dark pool of unreality bubbles out from the white stone beyond her slab. Rats, white and black rats, bubble out from it, squeaking shrilly, and Vera stares at them white-faced and wide-eyed for a moment before she screams and screams and screams.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII.

Corvo mingles with the lords and ladies quietly, listening to the rich waves of brainless conversation. He's beginning to regret having amused himself at Daud's expense after all - if he knows Daud, the assassin's probably already crept off to explore the rest of the mansion. Corvo, on the other hand, has just been wasting his time.

Internalising a sigh, Corvo attempts to make his way unobtrusively to a stairwell. He's done a few circuits of the party guests, and not only has there not been any sign of Lady Vera Moray or her husband, no one seemed the least interested in the fact that their hostess was missing. A quick use of the dark vision indicated well enough that he's surrounded by wraiths: echoes of an old, crazy woman's memories, and he'll probably not learn anything from them that's of the least importance.

Just as he's attempting to cross the great ballroom, however, the string band in the corner settles about its conductor, and start up the first strains of a slow waltz. Corvo grimaces, quickly edging to the side of the ballroom, in case he attracts any attention, but he's too late - a young lady has approached him, smiling, bright-eyed. Her fan flutters before her lips, and her wheat gold hair dusts a dress cut just daringly enough to be mildly scandalous in this time and age.

"Milord," she says winsomely, "You leave so _very_ hurriedly."

Corvo's trapped, and briefly considers bending time, but instead, he swallows his exasperation and goes through the expected motions. "A dance, milady?" he bows, as he stretches out his right hand, palm up. A quick glance using dark vision indicates that she's just another one of the wraiths, and this perhaps should be safe enough.

She steps into the time of the waltz with ease. "You don't seem to be like anyone from about here, milord." 

Instantly, Corvo's wary. "I am but one of the Lady's very many guests and friends."

"Perhaps! Perhaps," the lady smiles again, a little coyly. "I am Lady Esmeralda Chandler."

The name's vaguely familiar, but before Corvo can get at the memory, a pale hand touches Lady Chandler's shoulder lightly. Instantly, her eyes go blank, and she steps away woodenly to the side, stepping over to the walls of the ballroom to seat herself at one of the chairs. Corvo tenses up, even as the Outsider inserts himself in Lady Chandler's place, one elegant hand on Corvo's shoulder, the other slipped over his palm.

"You," the Outsider notes flatly, even as Corvo stares at him with open surprise, "Are slipping, Corvo."

"I would have excused myself after the waltz." Corvo says defensively, and as the Outsider purses his lips with irritation, he starts to smile, unsettled as he is, all over again. Damn Daud and his insights. It's true. Corvo _is_ starting to be a little curious. "Jealous, milord?"

"Don't be tedious, Corvo," the Outsider snaps, the hand on Corvo's shoulder clenching tight for a moment. "You and Daud are _mine_."

Corvo wisely decides not to mention his and Daud's standing sparring 'arrangement' as of now, and curls his hand to the small of the Outsider's back, stroking his spine in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion. "Where _is_ Daud?"

"Doing what he does best," the Outsider seems to recover some of his usual, neutral equilibrium. His steps in the dance are stiff and obviously unpracticed, but at least he doesn't tread on Corvo's toes. "Sneaking about."

"Such a _disparaging_ way of describing what we do," Corvo murmurs. He's not entirely sure what he should be doing here, or next, but at least none of the other dancers seem to notice the incongruity of two men dancing to a lover's waltz. "He'll be hurt."

"At least he isn't wasting his time with shades."

"No one here is as interesting as you, milord." As flirtations go, it's clumsily done, but at least it has the effect of making the Outsider smirk, finally mollified. 

"Your grasp of the finer art of flattery leaves something to be desired."

"At least I'm not as bad as Daud."

"It'll be unnecessary from Daud," the Outsider's fingers, at his shoulder, slide up to his neck, ticklish and strange, _playful_ , to press a soft palm against Corvo's cheek. "He might seem intractable, but his devotion to me is absolute. Should I ask him to take a blade to anyone... be it Emily, or even himself, he would do it. But you..." the palm strokes back down, to press lightly against the rising pulse in Corvo's neck, "You would question me at every turn." 

"And why not?" Corvo asks warily, trying to sound flippant and failing. Ice seems to curl at the base of his spine. That's right. For all of Daud's protests and claims, should the Outsider ever ask him to turn against Emily, Corvo knows that Daud wouldn't hesitate in the least. Emily will never hold Daud's true loyalty. "Devotion bores you. You turned from Granny Rags. You turned from Daud, until the end."

"I do not turn from any of my Chosen, not until the last of their days," the Outsider corrects, "Even when they become... less interesting." 

"You stopped revealing yourself to Granny Rags, didn't you? Even at the shrines? Even in her dreams? Was that why she's trying so hard? She loves you. It's maddened her."

"Oh, Corvo," the Outsider says, amused, "I might have expected this from Daud, but not you - his mind is sharp, but he does have a tendency to think in straight lines. Look around you. Does this look like a lover's gift? Trapping me here? Cutting me off from the source of my power?"

"Are you saying that she actually..." Corvo hesitates, and frowns, even as the waltz dies down, and the band strikes up another melody, this one mournful, slower. "She _does_ love you. But she wants to revenge herself on you, as well. Having your gift must have taken everything from her. She went mad, lost everything, even her husband. She loves you and hates you at the same time."

"Very good," the Outsider says approvingly. "That's better. Not precisely correct, but closer to the truth."

"And... all the rituals," Corvo notes slowly, "They all have an element of death in them, or destruction. She means to have you. But she also means to end you." The sheer audacity of the witch's madness awes him.

"Why yes," the Outsider, this time, smiles lightly. "I haven't been so threatened before. It _is_ so _very_ interesting."

"Why didn't you let us help you from the start?" Corvo demands, low and fierce.

"I have existed for a vast amount of time, my dear. This is a most welcome... development, all the more that it was unforeseen."

"You-" Corvo cuts himself off, irritably, and sighs. "All right. We'll... get you someplace safe, or..." his tone trails off, as the Outsider tilts his head. Stupid statement. The Outsider's shown clearly that he can still be anywhere - at least, in this pocket reality. "Ah, so, you can also hide from her?"

"Evidently. It's why the game hasn't ended. She pursues me, while I hide in plain sight, looking for a way out, even as she calls to me. That is the game."

Corvo's heart sinks. If the _Outsider_ couldn't find a way out, and if Daud's book of rituals was useless... "Stalemate."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." The Outsider pats Corvo's cheek, a little insultingly, then he pulls away. "It's probably time that you checked on Daud." 

"The party's drawing to a close?"

"Oh no," the Outsider lifts a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Parties used to be Little Miss Vera's sole escape from the boredom of her existence. This party will go on - forever - until she finds me."

With that, the Outsider vanishes, and Corvo curses quietly under his breath before he hurries out of the ballroom. Daud's probably on the upper levels, but before he goes looking for Daud, he should find a map of the Moray mansion, or they'll spend forever blundering about.

8.0.

When Daud finally runs into Corvo in the mansion's library, the first thing Corvo says to him is, "If the Outsider told you to kill yourself, would you?"

Daud arches an eyebrow. "What's gotten into you _now_?"

"Just answer the question."

With an exasperated sigh, Daud shrugs. "If he asked me, sure."

"But-"

"I would've been dead long ago if it hadn't been for him. Or worse. So my life belongs to him, as far as I see it: fair's fair. Why? Did he say we should-"

"No, no," Corvo mutters. He's glaring at an old floor plan of the manor, preserved within a glass case. "This isn't right at all. The manor we've walked in is far vaster."

"Space and time is warped here. I'll have been surprised if we actually found some sort of working map." Daud frowns at Corvo - the man's jumpy as hell, as though he's just seen a... "Did you just meet the Outsider again?"

"In the ballroom," Corvo says, after a long pause. "He's... it's getting worse, Daud. I think he's using what's left of his powers to hide himself from Vera in the middle of all her memory wraiths. I just met a copy of Lady Chandler - you know, the founder of the Chandlerian Nursing School? Dead now for at least thirty years or so and counting."

"That's..." A thought occurs to Daud, and prods Corvo in the shoulder. "Get to the fucking point, Corvo. If you want me to take everything the Outsider says between now and him returning to normal with a pinch of salt, I agree, all right? So if he shows up abruptly and asks me to stab you somewhere creative, I won't do it unless you give me a damned good reason to." 

Corvo doesn't relax, but he does murmur, "I'm concerned that if Vera finds and takes control of the Outsider... that might be an easy way to get rid of the both of us. Turning us against each other."

"Are you? What's eating you, Corvo? I'll rather have you lay it out in the open rather than have it bite me in the arse at a less convenient time."

"I don't think Vera means to control the Outsider. Her motives-"

"Aye, aye, I have a feeling she actually hates him," Daud says carelessly, and when Corvo blinks at him, he summarises what he had seen behind the doors, finishing with, "She's not a big fan of matrimony, and she _did_ murder her last husband. Stands to reason that her motives where the Outsider is concerned aren't about settling down and picking out some fucking curtains together."

"It's not so simple." 

Daud shrugs. "Someone once told me that the greatest, deepest hatreds start with love. So it's something like that. Who knows? Her mind's shattered."

"That last ritual, with the pearls," Corvo says thoughtfully, looking back at the map. "A house of misery. Like this one. She's filled it with her favorite things, from her youth, but nothing in it gives her joy any longer, from the feel of it. Nothing save the Outsider, and that's... complicated."

"So what," Daud says skeptically, "The way out is to find three pearls and flush them down a sink? We don't want to get out. We want to get rid of her. Where _is_ she, anyway?"

"You've seen her."

"I've seen a memory of her-"

"This _is_ her, I think." Corvo gestures around them. "This house. This realm. The World card - she _is_ this World. That's why she wasn't among the guests. That's why you could see all those memories behind locked doors."

Daud mulls this over, rubbing at his chin. Corvo's analysis does make an awful sort of sense - not that it helps in the least. "So, what, we burn this place down?"

"Must your solutions _always_ be so... so _unsubtle_?"

"I can do subtle," Daud growls, "I've just never had to assassinate a house before. What do we do, eh? Break the windows? Stab the floorboards?"

"I don't know," Corvo says, frustrated, "But I'm sure there's something that can be done. Otherwise I doubt the Outsider would have let us in no matter what you said to him. Where would the fun be?"

Where indeed? That was a fair point. The Outsider wouldn't let them in at all unless he thought they could do something. Indeed, he had sort of hinted that in _his_ opinion, two against one might even be of an equal footing. Though, then again, the Outsider wasn't quite himself right as of now.

"We need to know more about this place," Daud says finally. "Got to split up. Cover more ground. See if it's really about the house. If it is, maybe we could... get it repossessed, or something. If the re-creation of Dunwall out there is really exact, it's not uncommon for properties to fall to Empire possession for some reason or other. Maybe documents can be forged." 

Corvo seems to think this over, then he nods quietly. "That's a fair idea. And I've handled more than a handful of repossession matters, particularly now that we're having to unravel the paper trails of the illegally repossessed houses from those who were capitalising on the rat plague. Legal documents and their wording change but slowly." 

He leaves Corvo to think over the matter even as he sneaks back out to the deserted corridors of the sprawling house of memories. Personally, Daud hadn't thought much of his suggestion - how in the world would mundane legal concepts affect a madwoman's dream - but it was a way to keep Corvo out from underfoot. Something was worrying Corvo, to the point that the Lord Protector was visibly spooked, and a lifetime of training dangerous brats and reformed mercs had taught Daud to recognise the warning signs. 

Ah, well. Daud had always intended to handle this matter by himself anyway. It might be easier to do so if he didn't have to waste any energy watching his own allies for treachery. 

It's a good thing he didn't mention the reason why he had been interested in looking at the map in the first place. If there was a heart to this crazy warren of a villa, his instincts told him that it had to be Vera Moray's room - probably a mirror copy of the bedroom they had first stumbled into. Something there was probably the lynchpin of the spell - or one of the lynchpins. It was clear to Daud that Vera's rituals more or less walked in patterns of three, where it counted. Three key elements per spell. If he could remove just one... things would probably come apart. 

Hopefully.

Still, he hadn't risen so far in his profession on just the Outsider's gift. Daud had long learned to trust his killer's instinct. 

As he had suspected, warped as the rest of the floor plans had been, Vera's bedroom is still precisely where it should be - second floor, facing the garden with the weird hedge maze and the duck pond. Daud doesn't really understand the nobility's obsession with complex topiary. As far as he's concerned, a garden maze is probably the best way to murder and conceal a body in these sorts of properties - he should know. He's made use of the damned things before, now and then. 

A key memory. A favored place. She couldn't have changed the room even if she wanted to: it held something core to the spell, Daud was sure of it. A transversal took him to the bedroom's balcony from a windowsill that poured moonlight into the corridor he had been creeping through, and he risks a quick peek into the bedroom.

Empty.

The glass doors leading out to the balcony are locked shut, and Daud curses quietly under his breath, selecting a pair of lockpicks from his pouch. The ancient tumbler system yields, thankfully, when tickled with the pick, and Daud lets himself into Vera Moray's bedroom noiselessly, slipping into the semidark of the void gaze. 

So far, so good. And no rats, too. Daud's hand hovered over a canister of chokedust at his belt, just in case.

The void gaze tricks up the usual stuff - valuables, notes, journals, but it isn't what Daud's looking for. He has to do two circuits of the room before he finally finds it - a little spark of orange, just behind the headboard of the bed. 

Daud grimaces. Of _course_ it has to be behind the void-damned biggest fucking piece of furniture in a room otherwise filled with the delicate bits and bobs of a noblewoman's sheltered life. Nothing in his life is ever going to be simple.

The four-poster is a huge old antique and refuses to budge, and in the end Daud has to wedge his blade down the gap and saw it about until he finally knocks something free. It skitters out and onto the carpet, and Daud breathes a sigh of relief. The alternative would have been to sneak all the way out and find Corvo, and even if he could endure the Lord Protector's undoubtedly snide remarks all the way back about growing old and fading strengths, he wasn't sure if even the two of them could shift this old monster.

Slipping into normal sight, Daud studies his find. It's a tiny little pendant, ivory and brass, by the look of it, of a woman's cameo. The side profile of the elegant woman depicted is instantly familiar. 

Lady Vera Moray. 

He picks it up, and that's when everything starts to fuck up. A howling wind shrieks abruptly through the balcony windows, shattering the glass as they slam back against the walls, and the dim light from the moon starts to darken, as though clouds are scudding over its face. Behind the main door into the room, a rustling, growing skittering sound starts, like the gathering feet of a million rats, and Daud looks around wildly. The fireplace isn't lit, and he doesn't have any grenades on him and... hell. 

At least Corvo isn't here to complain about the concept of subtlety. 

He drops the cameo on the side table beside the bed, reverses his blade, and slams the back of the hilt with all the strength he can muster against the ivory profile. A woman's shriek tears through the air, and he fights the instinctive urge to cover his ears - _ragepainangerhatred_ \- and slams the hilt back down over the cameo. 

It cracks, though he doesn't hear it - instead, a thrumming shock judders through Daud's arm, like an impact from a high fall, and he's being thrown backwards as though slapped away by an invisible hand, the four-poster monster of a bed shattering, the papers in the room torn up around a spreading funnel of invisible force that punches down the walls of the bedroom and sunders the ceiling. 

Dazed, Daud's knocked winded against a wall, that tilts sickeningly out into space, and then he realizes with addled confusion that he's looking _into_ space, into the Void, a vast purple and green sea of roiling unreality, and he's falling, unable to save himself, numb-

An impact jars through him from his other hand, and he looks up into Corvo's tense face, then Corvo has his other fist tucked in his belt, and he's caught in the whirl and jump of a transversal not of his making. Corvo dodges falling masonry, gasping and panting, desperately dancing up and around the deadly ruin of Vera Moray's trap, trying to find firmer ground. It's pointless, Daud thinks, and dazed as he is, the idea seems hilarious to him - he starts to laugh, and Corvo snarls at him, wordless and furious. 

Daud ends up wrong after all. This isn't their end - Corvo eventually reaches a fragment of the villa that's stable - part of the servant's wing, by the looks of it, even as with creaks and moans and rumbles the manor sheds off all the weight of its reforged skin, breaking up like a shipwreck under the aftershocks of the shattering ritual.

"Not... not done yet," Daud wheezes, as Corvo props him against the wall. "Three... three elements to a spell." He feels like he's talking to Corvo from a great distance, and he can't really feel his right arm, his sword-arm - it's numb to his shoulder. Somehow, his fingers are still locked around the hilt of his blade, even though he can't feel them, or he'll be less his favourite blade.

"You void-damned crazy bastard," Corvo's snarling into his face, "What did you do?"

"Broke one piece..." Daud starts to laugh, then he chokes and gasps as Corvo shakes him. "Must've... absorbed the whiplash from the spell breaking up. Funny-"

"Concentrate!" Corvo shakes him again. The woman's screams have faded, into a low, furious sobbing that comes from around them and without. "Three elements to a spell. What are the other two? Daud!" 

It was obvious, really, now that he's looking at it objectively. Rituals are hardly the most difficult things when the main tangent has been found. "Three pearls into a broken house," Daud murmurs, "Three items. Herself - the cameo. The World Card. The Wedding Ring. All to catch the eye of the Leviathan and hold him captive in a house of misery."

"All right." Corvo stares at him, tense and pale. "You stay here and catch your breath. I'm going to finish this."


	9. Chapter 9

IX.

Part of Corvo is worried about leaving a clearly disoriented Daud where he is, but he knows he has to capitalise on the chaos that Daud has wrought, if they have to finish this. He smiles to himself, even as he blinks up to another floating block of the shattered manor - part of the gardens, with half of its hedge maze still intact. To think that only a short while ago, he would have cheerfully left Daud to a possibly painful demise with no regrets.

It's not the sex: Corvo understands that the rough and tumble between the two of them is simply another rhythm to their uneasy truce, another tempo of their constant push and pull. No. Somewhere along the line, Corvo's started to respect Daud as someone who's more than just a killer. Maybe he's even begun to forgive Daud - really forgive him - just a little. 

He draws quietly away from the sounds of Granny Rags' sobs, which break up into the occasional low and angry hiss, a murmur of whispered words and chittering clicks, scanning the remaining islands of rubble and furniture for the two remaining keys to the spell. The wraiths are gone, and the Outsider's nowhere in sight as far as he can tell - its just as well. He doubts that the cataclysm has hurt the Outsider, given that his abilities still work, and he dodges quietly up from the back of a floating bookshelf to a skewer of tiled rock, a sink and a rack of towels still orbiting it gently, then further up, to a larger floor. 

It's the ballroom, now empty of dancers, although the instruments from the band still clutter the ground, and a chandelier has been frozen in mid fall, just in the act of shattering. Corvo sucks in a slow breath, blinking from the ground to the chandelier - the high ground should give him a better look of all the islands about him - only to yelp as gravity abruptly decides to take hold. He leaps wildly out into space to roll with his fall on the smooth wood of the ballroom floor, even as the chandelier shatters loudly a few feet away.

The sobbing stops, and turns into a whispery, echoing laugh. Corvo hastily scrambles for cover, blinking away from the island and up to an adjacent spit of rubble , pulling himself under the writing desk still upon it, even as Granny Rags materializes in the middle of the ballroom, looking around.

She looks like nothing that Corvo remembers. Gone is the wispy coif of graying hair, the dead, bone-white eyes, the sagging skin and the ragged, unfashionable clothes. Granny Rags has become Lady Veray Moray again, beautiful and imperious, straight-backed in a midnight blue gown caught at her waist with a silver vest dotted with jet black pearls. Her elegant hands are sheathed in white gloves sunk to her wrists in blood, and her eyes, as they sweep slowly about the ballroom, are a clear, piercing earthen brown.

"Oh my love," she murmurs, as she circles the ballroom with a dancer's exquisite grace, "Are you weary of my game at last? Come out and play, my love, my black-eyed groom. We can dance together beneath the stars, alone. Better this way, isn't it, my pretties? Better this way." 

With a sick lurch, Corvo realizes that the shadows following Vera's feet, under her beautiful, sweeping gown, are alive with _rats_. He's pinned - he doesn't see a route away from where he is save back down through the ballroom to the garden and beyond. He's going to have to wait Vera out, and she gives no sign that she's about to move. Breathing out slowly, Corvo briefly considers sleep-darting Vera and praying to - well, the Outsider - that it'll work... when there's another crash, further away, that sounds like a cabinet full of ceramics being pushed over.

Daud?

Vera crouches, her elegant fingers curling into claws, then she disappears abruptly. Corvo doesn't question his bit of luck - constructed or otherwise - he hastily blinks to the ballroom, then back down to the garden, where he hides himself in the tall hedges, considering his next move quickly. From here he can see at least eight other large islands. Nine in all, three upon three. He doubts that's a coincidence.

From the garden, he blinks up several precarious steps of rubble until he comes to a large, masculine room, lined with dark teak panelling and adorned with the severed, mounted heads of big game. At the large writing desk, empty of clutter, is a small painted portrait of Vera Moray as a little girl - this isn't Lord Preston Moray's study: it's Vera's father's, Corvo surmises. Vera's father had been a hunter in his youth. Corvo blinks up to the head of a rhinoceros beast, and scans the room with his dark sight. 

Nothing, save for a few valuables. He moves on.

The next 'room' isn't a room at all - Corvo takes a moment to recognise the deck of a tallship, a fragment of it - with part of a shattered mainmast still listing away from the deck, trailing rigging and torn sail. The rotting deck creaks under his feet, and in the distance, Corvo hears a cry of triumph - he doesn't wait to check, already blinking in haste away from the tallship, to the next island, scrambling to hide. 

He ducks behind a bookshelf just in time - Vera manifests on the deck of the tallship. Her imperious bearing is gone - she's hunched now, her hands crooked together, in the unsettling, twisted bearing that is reminiscent of her persona as Granny Rags - all the more unsettling now that it's displayed in the body of a beautiful young woman. Having to manifest in her broken world is taking its toll, perhaps, or maybe Granny Rags has been caught up in the backlash of her broken spell-

Vera glances around, narrow-eyed, though her tone is still playful, still wheedling. "You're teasing me, my love. Come to me. Does not eternity bore you, my love, of the black eyes? Come away from your other playmates. There's none of them whom you've shaped as well in your image as I." She hisses under her breath, and her dark eyes flash in temper, in the sullen embers of a pride long lain dormant and festering. "Come to me. All things bear fruit. All things come to an end - even you, my love."

Corvo shudders and flattens himself against the wall, glancing around. He's in what looks like a workshop - a rather _familiar_ workshop, come to think of it. In the real world, the bookshelves have become mahogany, the workbench astralite stone, but he's seen these pitted and stained floor tiles before - more damaged in several ways now, despite the efforts of the Academy servants. This is Sokolov's workshop as it must have looked, years and years ago, when Sokolov had been a young painter, set to paint Vera's portrait. 

Looking at the bookshelf hurts his eyes in the dark sight - _all_ the books seem to glow - but as he concentrates, he finally picks out a flat rectangle of orange light. He wonders whether to risk reaching for it, even as, a little closer, there's a clear tinkling sound - glass breaking. Vera hisses, and disappears again.

Definitely Daud. 

Corvo hurriedly steps out of his hiding place, grabbing for the book with the orange light. It's heavy, and leather-bound - an atlas of the world. He lays it flat on the tiled floor and flips through it until he comes to a map of Pandyssia, and the World card lying upon it, glued to the map with dried blood. Grimacing, Corvo looks around, sucking in a slow breath, then he gets an incendiary bolt from the quiver at his hip and loads it into his crossbow. Backing up over the workbench, he aims and fires. 

The World card burns instantly, and around him, Sokolov's workshop shatters under the hammer blow of the focal point shattering, but Corvo's ready for this - he's blinking up to the tallship, running wildly as the deck splinters away beneath his feet, blinking again and again until he's back to the ballroom, seemingly the only stable island left in a sea of falling rubble and shattered furniture. Around him, there's another shrill scream of rage, and then Vera manifests in the ballroom as well, her now fully familiar face contorted with despair and anger. 

"You!" she cries. "You!"

Corvo blinks away hurriedly, just in time - a pool of rats has erupted from where he had stood, and he blinks again up to the top of a broken column, loading a sleep dart into his crossbow frantically. He doesn't manage to complete the gesture - a wind blast knocks him off his perch, and into the waiting maw of a sea of rats. The beasts shriek with a collective squeal of rage as they bite and claw and try to climb up over him, pulling him down with their weight; Corvo swings around him wildly with his blade - too many - and even as he struggles, is just in time to watch Daud blink behind Granny Rags and leap onto her back. 

He knocks her sprawling, but instead of jamming his blade through her heart, Daud pins down her right hand instead, and with a deft stab, lops off her ring finger. She _screams_ , and the rats scatter away from Corvo, lunging towards Daud even as he grabs the severed finger and disappears. 

The rats freeze, then, glancing about, absolutely silent, then they mill and hiss and huddle together until they're a seething pool of dark mottled fur, melting down into a black, inky pool on the ballroom floor. The pool abruptly flows _upwards_ , like a fountain in reverse, into a writhing mass of darkness like the void in the heart of a dead star - and the Outsider is there, again crowned in the living dark of eternity, floating above the ground, hands folded before his chest. 

"Dear Vera," he says, and his tone is neutral. "This _has_ been such a lovely game."

Vera doesn't seem to hear him - she's still crouched on the ground, weeping with racked sobs, but the Outsider waits patiently, and eventually, she rubs her eyes angrily and gets to her feet. Even as she does, age and the ravages of madness fall away from her, until she is younger even than the gorgeous woman whom had pursued Corvo across the shattered islands, and younger yet - she is a little girl now, a few years older than Emily, so very serious, in a pretty green frock. 

"Hello," this young version of Vera says, in a child's voice. "Hello, my love. Is it time?"

"Yes. It is time. And I thank you for the experience," the Outsider says, reaching out a hand for her. "But as I warned you once, the gift was never meant to prolong your life. The moment you chose to step outside time, outside the river of eternity, was the moment that my gift became your ruin."

"I know," Vera says dreamily, with a small smile. "But to be young forever and do whatever I liked! Oh, I wished! And I wished that you could be there with me. I wished! If you would not take me to your world as your bride, then I would make things work my way, as I always have. Don't give me forgiveness. I'm not sorry. I only hope that I've hurt you as much as you have hurt me. That perhaps for a moment you loved me as much as I love you."

She puts her hand in the Outsider's palm, and her form starts to glow, to grow indistinct, and then Corvo shields his eyes as even the outline of a little girl collapses, and the folds of light spear upwards, with a core of brilliant white that's painful to look at, further up and up into the Void itself until, when it's barely visible to Corvo's eyes, it seems to expand, to grow longer, larger, dimming, until the pale outline of a gigantic whale is left, flicking its immense tail as it surveys eternity for a moment. 

There's a faint thrumming sound in his bones, as though he's trying to listen in on the opening refrain of a song that he cannot understand or sense, a vast dirge, and then the whale is gone into the dark.

9.0.

Huh. Daud supposes that he's always figured that this is where whales came from - some of them. Otherwise, why do some whales have carved whalebone within them? When it's his turn to go, his belly's going to have quite a collection of the damned things.

He's so busy watching Vera go that he nearly misses the Outsider's approach. The finger's dissolved into ash, but the bloodied ring remains, and he tosses it towards the Outsider flippantly. It hangs in mid air, suspended in nothing for a moment, then it flickers once, and is gone.

"Enough of a show?" Daud asks the Outsider with a grin. He's still dizzy, but at least he had enough of his wits left to give Corvo a bit of a hand. 

"It's hardly up to your usual standard," the Outsider retorts, though he seems amused. A tendril of darkness licks over Daud's ankle, and the residual aches in his body and arm are gone. When he looks over to Corvo, he notes that the rat bites and scratches are also mended.

"A 'thank you' would have sufficed. Actually, a 'thank you' would be nice."

"Why? You weren't the ones who crafted all this." The Outsider does, however, glance over to Corvo, then back to Daud. "You desire a boon?"

"Not me. Him." Daud points at Corvo, who stares at him, confused. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Attano. Ask him to free the previous Empress from that thing. Isn't that what's made you so mopey all this time since you pried me from Karnaca?"

"Ah. Yes." Corvo has the grace to look ashamed. "Of course. If I may. Please, free Jessamine."

The Outsider doesn't even twitch, but abruptly, a portal of light appears beside him, and after a moment, out steps a familiar, tall and slender woman in a black blouse and breeches, jewels at her throat, blinking and disoriented. Jessamine Kaldwin looks about in dumb confusion for a moment, and then she narrows her eyes at Daud, stepping towards him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Hastily, Corvo intercepts her with a low murmur, and Jessamine shoots Daud one more murderous stare before deigning to follow her Lord Protector away to a corner of the ballroom, beside one of the columns, their heads bent together in intimate conversation.

"They'll spend some time saying their goodbyes," the Outsider predicts indifferently, even as Daud watches them go. "That was interesting. Selfless, even, I should say."

"All in the name of a better working relationship," Daud grunts. "I was growing tired of all the angst."

The Outsider smiles thinly. "Why do you still bother to lie to me, Daud? You know that it never works."

"Because you think it's funny, that's why." Daud eyes him warily. "Are you all back together now, by the way?" 

"Yes. Even better, perhaps. For now I understand mortality again." The black, empty gaze lifts up briefly, to the endless Void. "It has been a most instructive experience. But all things end." 

"So," Daud presses, "Am I off the hook?"

"For now," the Outsider allows, his gaze turning back to Daud, though there's an odd cast to it now that unnerves Daud all over again. "I will need to consider matters for a while. The... various things that I have learned. The discussion will have to be postponed."

"But I just saved-" Daud starts to protest, but the Outsider is gone. Irritated, Daud mutters under his breath in exasperation, and stamps over to the edge of the ballroom to stare over into the void in disgust. 

He doesn't know how long it takes, but eventually, he looks up at the click-click of approaching heels. Jessamine Kaldwin is stalking towards him, her jaw set, and Daud briefly considers retreating up to the top of a column, but she stops when she's close enough to talk rather than slapping him across the face or pushing him over into the Void. 

"What?" he asks her warily, and Corvo glares at him from behind Jessamine's back.

"Daud, was it?" Jessamine says, her tone clipped, imperious. "I need a word with you. Alone," she adds, with a glance at Corvo, who starts to protest for a moment before settling for glowering at Daud, and stalks off away to the other end of the ballroom.

Ha. 

"All right," Daud notes mildly. "What d'you want?"

"You're not going to apologize?"

"Eh," Daud scratches at his jaw, "The way I figure it, anything I say isn't going to be worth much to you as you are now. But I can try to make up for it. I am."

Jessamine's scowl lessens a fraction, and she nods. "Yes. I am thankful for what you have done for Emily. What you _are_ doing. I cannot forgive you for what you have done - for in murdering me and giving Emily to Burrows and his conspirators you caused her many months of terror and suffering. You've wounded her deeper than she knows."

"She's a good kid. Strong-willed." Daud notes, a little uncomfortably. "Aye, I never expected to be forgiven by you."

"Promise me that you'll serve her faithfully for the rest of your life."

"I don't break my word, and I've given it to her," Daud shrugs. "Sure." 

Jessamine purses her lips, clearly unimpressed by his casual tone, but she finally relaxes a fraction. "Very well. You and Corvo may return to your world through that portal when you are finished here, and-"

"One more thing," Daud decides to push his luck. "Ah, your daughter had a question for me. About the identity of her father-"

Empress Jessamine colours a little, her hands clenching, then she sighs. "That must forever be a mystery. To her, and to the Empire. Does it matter? For all purposes and sentiments, Corvo is her father now."

"Sure it matters. She asked. And she's my employer."

"When I... knew that I was pregnant..." Jessamine trails off, then she sets her jaw. "Know this. The lowest of the low in the Empire, the downtrodden, the hated, are those who are poor and of ill-birth: worse - those of ill-birth who are poor _and_ female. The bastard daughter of a poor man can aspire to nothing better than begging or the pleasure houses or working as a street sweeper: she can find no honest employment, no escape. The best perhaps that she can get out of her life is to be a rich man's sometime mistress, until age takes her beauty from her, if she is born with any."

"So... so I was young, and an idealist, and prideful, I refused to marry, refused to covenant my child's future, even though a few male friends whom I trusted offered me a way out from scandal. Corvo offered, as well," she adds, with a wry smile, "Even though we both knew full well where his real tastes lay. But scandal was what I wanted. An illegitimate girl has become Empress. Perhaps women around the Empire could start to dream of being something more."

"Sorry to say this, your Majesty," Daud says dryly, "But just about fuck all has changed, 'scuse my language."

"I know," Jessamine says fiercely. "I was naive. I should have known it would take more than a gesture. But I tried. And I hope that Emily will also try, that she will recognise the privilege of her birth in terms of her responsibility to the lowest in our society. The Empire cannot become truly great while half of its members are confined to only a restricted ambit of dreams."

Daud laughs. "I think I see why Corvo just about worshipped you, your Majesty. You're something else. D'you want me to convey the sentiment to Emily?"

"No. She'll have to figure it out for herself. She will," Jessamine says quietly, and manages a wan smile. "I wish I could be there by her side, but now - now I must move on, after all. Everything must end."

"It's been an honour and a privilege, your Majesty," Daud concedes, with a nod, and she inclines her head at him, imperious as ever, before turning to walk back over to Corvo. They clasp hands, tightly, on the edge of infinity, and then Jessamine's form flickers and fades, and winks out. 

Daud ambles over to the portal, his fingers tucked in his belt, waiting, and after a long moment, Corvo joins him. Daud avoids meeting his eyes - he can feel the other man's grief: it's almost palpable - and he starts to step through the portal.

Corvo, however, grabs his wrist. "Thank you," he mutters, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"I owed her," Daud admits gruffly, and jerks his head over at the light. "C'mon. Let's head home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double chapter post today :3


	10. Chapter 10

X.

In the end, it's Corvo who gets tired of cold stone walls and an open courtyard, even if Daud _does_ make snide remarks all the way up the lighthouse to his bedroom. Oddly enough, Daud's bedroom isn't in the safehouse at the top, but Daud rolls his eyes when Corvo mentions this to him. "I've better uses for that room," is all he's willing to say as he kicks the door closed behind them and drags Corvo over for a kiss.

Like the 'room' that Corvo had seen in the Chamber of Commerce, Daud doesn't live with much clutter - just a simple bed, a desk with some notes and books, and a chest at the foot of the bed. They stumble towards the bed, shedding belts and blades and coats until Corvo has Daud knocked over onto his back on the bed; they're grinding urgently against each other even as Daud struggles to kick off his boots. 

"My turn on top," he tells Corvo roughly, yanking open Corvo's shirt, hard enough that buttons spin and plink away onto the ground. 

" _You_ lost the sparring match," Corvo retorts, though he allows Daud to roll him over onto his back and help with his boots, tossing them into the untidy heap on the ground. 

"Details, details," Daud drawls, just as he gets his teeth in under the open collar of Corvo's shirt and bites down, chuckling muffled and deep as Corvo hisses and curls his hand into Daud's short hair, pulling him closer. His blood's singing again with the promise of violence, and as he shoves one thigh between Daud's legs, pressing up, Daud groans and bites harder and fists his hands in Corvo's shirt for a moment before he pulls it off, impatient. 

Corvo moans, arching against the bed, already impatient - he tugs pointedly at the hem of Daud's breeches until Daud purrs and presses a few licks against the fresh scar he's left on Corvo's throat, leaning up to look at him - then he frowns and glances sharply to his left. Corvo twists up onto his elbows quickly, following Daud's stare, just in time to see the Outsider settle languidly into the chair at the desk, turned to face them, pale hands folded demurely in his lap, long legs folded. The floor is alive with darkness.

"If you wanted to watch," Daud says roughly, with a sharp grin, "You could've said."

" _Daud_ ," Corvo hisses, but Daud ignores him - the Outsider's head tilts a little, expressionless. 

"I'm always watching, my Daud."

"You want a show this time?" Daud smirks, and leans up to kiss Corvo when Corvo tries to snap something. The Outsider laughs - that unnatural, echoing rumble of immortal amusement - as Daud thrusts his tongue down Corvo's throat to drag a moan from him. Corvo's heart is hammering in his chest; he feels so hot that he's sure that he's flushed all over - this is so wrong, and yet his hands are clenched over Daud's shoulders, urging him on. The Outsider's undivided attention fans the embers of his lust into something closer to madness. 

"Sit up," Daud growls, tugging at his arm, and dazed, Corvo obeys, propping his back up against the headboard, shifting up along the crowded bed. 

Daud licks and bites an unhurried path down from his throat, marking him, avoiding his scars, and Corvo makes a strangled, keening sound at the first rasp of teeth against a nipple. He clutches at Daud's bared shoulders, not daring to risk a look at the Outsider, then he yelps as an inexorable force seems to surround his wrists, pinning them high above his head. He twists in confusion, and Daud glances up sharply, only to laugh and lean up, to press a kiss to the black curls of midnight twisted around Corvo's wrists. From the chair, the Outsider makes a small sound - a growl, a moan, almost: the sound is nothing human, and the _feel_ of it thrums through Corvo's frame like the edges of whalesong.

From the looks of it, Daud feels it too - Daud heaves a surprised gasp against Corvo's cheek, then he nips Corvo's ear playfully as he shifts back down, his smirk arrogant and playful as he tugs Corvo's breeches down and off. Fully naked and pinned to the bed like a display, Corvo can't help but blush, fixing his eyes on the pink flick of Daud's tongue as it tastes the hollow of his skin beside his hip rather than try to look at their God. 

Daud is a frustrating tease - soon Corvo's snarling and bucking urgently and biting out curses as Daud just takes his time exploring, with long laps of his tongue over Corvo's tightening balls, up under the sensitive undersides of his thighs, further up, to his navel. Corvo's very nearly forgotten that they have an audience: his cock is throbbing painfully against his belly and it hasn't even yet been touched - he jerks angrily at his restraints and calls Daud a gasping string of ugly names that he had learned from the sailors of the steamship to Karnaca. Daud laughs, and retaliates by nipping his hip sharply and making him flinch. 

"Daud," the Outsider says, with mild reproach. "Give him what he wants."

"Show'll be over too quick," Daud responds, his voice roughened and thick with lust. 

"That's for me to decide, my dear."

Daud shrugs, and Corvo dimly can see the Outsider's point about Daud and his devotion - not once does Daud seem to think to reach down between his own thighs to give himself relief, or even loosen his own breeches. Instead, he licks at Corvo's aching cock - finally - small, kitten licks at first, then long and hungry laps before he finally gathers up thick flesh in his gloved hand, his left, the marked hand, and sucks him down, unhurried as ever. Corvo barely swallows a scream. It's been so long since anyone has done this to him, and none with such confidence: Daud hasn't done this to him before.

He's writhing by the time Daud swallows him to the hilt, staring down between his spread legs as Daud chuckles and bobs his head back up with a wet and obscene sound, the vibration of his purr stirring the tightening coil of Corvo's desires. He fights to stay still, but his hips twitch and jump regardless, and Daud - by the Void - seems unbothered, his hands resting only lightly on Corvo's hips, taking him in again with a swirl of his tongue. It's all for show, Corvo knows, but he can't help but cry out and stifle a sob. It's too much, like this, worse when Daud finally decides to settle for swallowing around him as though looking to devour him; Corvo's throat feels raw and he's close to the brink and-

Another twist of darkness wraps tight around the base of his prick, and Corvo lets out a disbelieving, betrayed gasp of shock. Daud pulls back quickly, concerned, then he looks down with a chuckle and glances over at the Outsider, teeth bared. "Looks like you thought over everything you learned in great detail."

The Outsider allows them another faint smile. "Entertain me."

"Want to join in?" Daud offers, still grinning, his voice a rasp from the abuse he's just put his throat through, "Have a turn?" 

Corvo's breath hitches, wide-eyed. Have a turn? The _Outsider_? He has a brief mental image of the slender, unnaturally beautiful frame pressed between Corvo's legs, or straddling his waist, and has to choke down a gasp. "Daud-"

"I thought you were putting on a show, my dear," the Outsider says mildly, and Daud shrugs again, leaning up to take Corvo's mouth again, feeding the bitter edge of Corvo's own taste to him until he's writhing and squirming again, begging wordlessly with every urgent breath. He gets an ankle up against the small of Daud's back and tugs, and Daud growls, low and hungry, but he glances over to the Outsider for instructions instead of taking what he wants. 

Corvo is vaguely aware that he should feel... disgusted, perhaps, or used, but instead, he finds he's as strung to the Outsider's will as Daud is, waiting - anticipation is all the more heady in that it's unexpected. "Please," he manages to gasp hoarsely, and Daud shudders, his breathing deepening; the Outsider uncrosses and crosses his slender legs and rests one perfect cheek against his palm. 

"Very well," the Outsider drawls. "Go on, Daud."

"Got a preference?" Daud inquires, and grins wickedly as he flattens his palm against Corvo's aching cock, making him buck for the pressure and whine. 

"Entertain me," the Outsider instructs, and the moan's from the both of them, harsh and desperate; Daud fumbles for the elixir he keeps near his bed even as he shoves his own breeches to his knees; shaking fingers spill drops of elixir over Corvo's cock. When the first digits press into him, Daud isn't remotely gentle, but Corvo arches his back and keens for it anyway: he wants, oh, he wants. 

"You can bleed me," Corvo says impatiently, pressing the heel of his foot into Daud's back, "Daud-"

"Shut up," Daud hisses, narrow-eyed, and shoves up Corvo's thigh, pressing him wide open, "You'll take what you're given."

He's slow on this day of all days, Void-damn him, Corvo knows Daud is putting on a show but he's still wild from it, tugging at his bonds and cursing Daud between gasps for air; he needs Daud so much, needs to be _filled_ , the pressure stroking within him is far too gentle, far too little. "Mercy," he begs, his voice ruined, when Daud gets to three fingers, still so fucking leisurely, "Mercy, milord, please-"

"Give him what he wants, Daud," the Outsider says, his voice neutral as ever but Daud moans his assent as though punch drunk, slicking himself up and sliding in with a low and bubbling snarl. He jerks with a start when he's barely halfway in, and Corvo blinks at him dumbly for a moment before he realizes that the Outsider must have restrained Daud just as Corvo's own prick is bound, and he chokes out a groan, locking his ankles against Daud's spine, pulling urgently. The slide's smooth, the friction barely enough, and Daud curls against him to kiss him when they're full-joined, his kiss savage where the breach had been gentle. 

Corvo growls, squirming and trying to urge Daud on, but Daud doesn't budge, chuckling low and rough against Corvo's ear until the Outsider says, "Move, Daud." 

"How d'you want it?"

"Entertain me."

"You heard him," Daud whispers against Corvo's ear, and there's violence in his words, finally, even as Corvo shifts to let Daud drag out a pillow, pressing his heels into the bed to help Daud fit it under his hips. The next thrust is _punishing_ , and Corvo jerks like a plucked string and wails his pleasure. 

Daud's shirt is soaked through by the time his thrusts finally start to stutter and slow, exhaustion making his arms shake from where they take his weight on either side of the bed beside Corvo's ribs, and still the Outsider watches, quiet and intent. Corvo's beyond begging now, his breaths in gasping sobs; his whole body aches to the bone, his blood burns within him and he needs more, he needs relief-

It's Daud who begs, to Corvo's dull shock, his voice a scratchy rasp as he looks over to the Outsider. " _Please_ ," he gasps, and repeats himself when the Outsider doesn't move, but his third attempt to speak drains into a low and choked sob as he buries himself back into Corvo's body and racks up another thorny pulse of pleasure and pain. 

The Outsider uncurls to his feet, stepping over, and Daud freezes, wide-eyed, leaning over eagerly when the Outsider curls hands into his sweat-soaked hair to drag him close for a kiss. He probably releases Daud at the same time - Daud stiffens tight, every muscle locked, and Corvo whimpers and bucks as he feels warmth spread within him, pulling weakly at the bindings on his wrists.

"Don't move yet," the Outsider tells Daud, and leans down to kiss Corvo - his mouth is blessedly cool, and urgent, and the pressure around the base of his cock is gone, _yes_ ; Corvo shakes as he comes apart, untouched, hears as though from a distance Daud's hiss as Corvo clenches uncontrollably over his own oversensitised flesh. 

Then the Outsider is settling back into the chair, and Corvo yelps as the bindings around his wrist disappear, dropping him back onto the bed in an awkward sprawl. "That was enlightening," the Outsider says finally: the cold bastard's amused. Corvo's too exhausted to think of anything - he just stares at him blankly. 

"Glad to be of service," Daud says dryly, in between shallow gasps for breath, "But I note that you didn't seem to want any personal help with anything else."

"Physical release is a mortal matter," the Outsider presses one pale thumb briefly against his lower lip, as he smiles slightly. "But I _was_ entertained."

With that, he's gone, and Daud gingerly pulls out before sagging down on the bed, too tired to do much more than roll onto his side between Corvo and the wall. "Fuck," he mutters indistinctly against the pillow, even as Corvo starts to laugh, jagged and hoarse. "I don't think I can survive another round of that."

"You won't be doing all the work next time... if there's a next time," Corvo reassures him, and adds, lazily, "Old man."

"Fuck you. I'll kick you out of my bed, except I'm too tired to move."

10.0.

Empress Emily squeals with delight when Daud gingerly tips out the box in his hands in the garden, even as Corvo and Callista stiffen in alarm: oblivious, the dog-sized baby Pandyssian bird-eating plant scuttles to and fro in a tight circle, disoriented and snapping at butterflies.

"Pharin knew a friend who knew a friend who's a crewmate on a Pandyssian trade ship," Daud explains smugly, and winks at Corvo, who shoots him a murderous glare, his hand clenched on the hilt of his sheathed sword. 

"Oh, isn't it darling," Emily coos, "I simply must think of something nice for Pharin in return."

"Yes, mustn't we just," Corvo says darkly, and Daud hopes that Pharin's thought to make himself scarce for the next few days. " _Daud_ , is there some definition of the term 'inappropriate' that you fail to understand?"

"The Empress is my boss, not you," Daud retorts, with a wink at Emily, who laughs. "The crewmate said that it lives just as well on bits of steak as birds, so there won't be a problem about feeding it."

"Until it grows bigger than a man," Corvo mutters, "When it does, I'm going to feed _you_ to it."

"Oh Corvo, be nice," Emily instructs, without taking her eyes off the little monster. "This is so much better than the wolfhound pup that you suggested. Think of all the fun we could have taking this for walks! I'll have to think of a name. Maybe Piero or Anton could contribute."

"Taking it for _walks_?" Callista says faintly. 

"Surely that thing should be confined to a cage," Corvo agrees, alarmed, even as, tired, the plant monster makes a shrill, screeching sound of protest and promptly roots itself in the ground.

"Look, you've upset it," Emily says reprovingly, "And to think I was considering naming it after you, Corvo."

Corvo visibly shudders, even as Daud has to briefly cover his mouth to stifle a laugh. "Ah... I'm certain I could live without the honour, Emily. Why don't you name it after Daud?" he adds, even as the plant monster snaps up an unsuspecting butterfly and gulps it down, little teeth gnashing. 

"I don't know," Emily purses her lips. "It doesn't really look like a Daud to me." 

"It definitely looks like a Corvo," Daud agrees, with a smirk, and Corvo glares at him pointedly even as he manages, through a careful mix of bribery and cajoling and dire predictions, to convince Emily to have the plant monster confined to a cage for now. Her pleas of "Why can't I bring it to Court?" were piteous indeed, but in this matter Corvo showed a surprising degree of backbone. Pity. 

"Court would have been more exciting with a plant monster," Daud tells Corvo later, when Corvo finds him perched precariously high up on the lighthouse in Kingsparrow Island, watching the dying grades of orange and gold as the sun starts to set. 

"Don't tempt me," Corvo grunts, and grumbles about some sort of tedious matter over competing claims to some sort of strawberry farm. It seemed that the matter had been trundling along for years. 

"I had a good day," Daud tells Corvo instead, just to be malicious, because he had - Emily had been in a magnanimous mood and had insisted that Pharin and Thomas and Daud attend her for tea, after which the rest of the day was spent seeing who could get the plant monster to jump the most for strips of steak. Daud had been winning when he had decided to actually get some work done before the day was over.

Corvo scowls. "You should have run that acquisition by me first. I _am_ Lord Protector."

"Corvo, if I had to run everything remotely entertaining through you first, that little girl will never have any fun."

"This is a highly inappropriate-"

"For her next birthday," Daud adds mildly, "I think we should shake up one of the Navy ships and take her pirate hunting. The Whalers have always wanted to try it anyway."

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh? I told her that you agreed," Daud says blithely, and grins wickedly when Corvo glares at him. "Hold that expression too long and it'll freeze on your face. _Relax_. She'll come to no harm, and after a few weeks on the sea she'll probably think that Court is more exciting than a life on the waves. Probably."

" _Probably?_ " Corvo growls, but instead of leaving, he stays perched close by Daud, watching as the sun sinks down over the horizon, washing its final splashes of light in cherry hues over the harbour. Stars paint themselves bright in the upturned bowl of the dark sky, and a breath of the first crisp, chilled breeze coming in from the sea washes over them both, tugging at their coats. The weight on Daud's soul seems to lessen, and it leaves wildness in its wake. 

Daud uncurls to his feet, outlined against eternity, and pulls Corvo to his. "Race you down to the courtyard, you sad bastard," he offers, and Corvo smirks, leaning over to steal a brief kiss before he's gone, reappearing in a fraction of a second on a windowsill several feet below. Daud laughs, the mark on his left hand burning cold for a heartbeat, and he jumps, leaping out into the midnight sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all enjoyed the fic :) was fun!

**Author's Note:**

> If you'll like to discuss the fic/ficbunnies/say hello, I'm on twitter @manic_intent and tumblr - manic-intent.tumblr.com :3


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